Unlikely Salvation
by AliceWrites457
Summary: When Sideshow Bob is released from prison, vengeance is the only thing on his mind. However, unexpected circumstances force him to rethink everything he thought he knew, and he finds himself fighting to save the last person he ever thought he'd care about. Warning: Contains descriptions of abuse. Possible eventual Bort.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello, everyone- well, here it is! I've been working on this for quite some time now, and I've finally gathered the courage to publish. This is pretty much the first thing I've written after about five years of writer's block, so... be kind. Constructive criticism and suggestions are welcome, just no flames, please.

This takes place about 12 years in the future, give or take a little.

 **Warning:** This will eventually be a happy fic, but... for a while... it's fairly sad. There are some pretty heavy issues addressed in this fic, centering on abuse and abusive relationships.

* * *

Chapter 1

* * *

As the wind hit his face, Bob released a deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding-and inhaled his first breath as a free man in over a decade. The sunlight was harsh on his pale, freckle-kissed skin, and he shielded his eyes against the glare as he searched for the car that should have been waiting to pick him up. Cecil hadn't answered his last few calls, but when they'd spoken previously, they'd made arrangements for his release date- apparently, he'd forgotten his commitment to his older brother. The gate buzzed closed behind Bob, leaving him alone outside the remote prison. As far as the eye could see in all directions stretched endless desert- not a tree or shred of other cover in sight. He pulled his sleeves as far as they would yield and flattened his mass of ginger hair to cover himself as much as possible, but knew it wouldn't be even close to enough protection. With a sinking heart and rapidly reddening dermis, he started walking in the direction of the nearest civilization.

He barely made it halfway before collapsing. He wasn't sure how long he lay in the ditch, baking like road kill in the sun, waiting for a motorist to drive by and notice his plight, or the droves of desert scavengers to set upon his flesh. He could feel the sun's rays burning his throbbing skin more and more, but lacked the strength to even roll onto his stomach, let alone drag himself any further. He'd just begun to accept his less than dignified demise, when a school bus full of children on their way to the prison for a (rather tasteless) field trip noticed the unnaturally auburn bush and convinced the driver to investigate. Bob was certain that he'd already expired as the paramedics lifted him onto a stretcher and into the ambulance; the journey to the hospital was a blur of bright lights, strange faces, and, mercifully, morphine.

When he regained consciousness, the pain was the first thing that registered- a dull burning on his face and torso, accompanied by an uncomfortable stretching sensation that made it seem like his skin would split apart with even the most minute movement. He opened his eyes and became aware of the gauze bandages covering the entirety of his upper body, face, and arms. He started to look around, but immediately stopped moving when the dull pain intensified. As long as he stayed completely still, it was bearable. Noticing his activity, a doctor came into Bob's limited line of sight, peering at him through the eyeholes in the bandages.

"Good morning," he greeted Bob, his voice pleasant. "I'm Doctor Davis. Please, don't try to talk, or move at all, for that matter. The more motionless you remain, the faster you will heal. You received serious burns on a good portion of your body, as well as severe dehydration, heat stroke, and sun poisoning. It's quite fortunate that those children found you when they did; a few more hours in that sun, and you may not have survived." Bob was wondering if perhaps death wasn't preferable to the agony he was experiencing- not to mention the almost certain melanoma down the road. "Now, it looks like you lost your wallet, so we weren't able to find your identity, but don't worry- as soon as the skin on your face heals a little more, we'll be able to loosen those bandages, and you'll be able to speak freely again. We just need to restrict mobility in your face and hands as much as possible for the next few weeks to prevent scarring. You've been transferred to Springfield General, and you'll be in the recovery ward, where myself and our excellent staff of nurses will attend to you. If you experience too much pain, press this button with your foot, and we'll do our best to make you as comfortable as possible." The doctor gestured to a large red button at the bottom of the bed, conveniently positioned to be in reach of Bob's long feet. "Now just lay back, and try to relax." Bob thought bitterly that he didn't have much choice in the matter. The doctor went back to his rounds, leaving Bob alone with his (slightly drug-muddled) thoughts.

He wondered what had become of Cecil. Although their relationship had had its share of rough spots, he'd always considered their bond of brotherhood rather unbreakable. Now, he was beginning to wonder if he'd taken his younger brother for granted a little too much. His prison mates had told him stories of how they'd been forsaken by even some of their most loyal friends and family upon release. He had assumed that Cecil had forgiven their past grievances, but in retrospect, all of Cecil's setbacks had, in one way or another, been thanks to Bob. Perhaps he'd finally tired of his older sibling, and decided to simply abandon him... Whatever the reason for his absence, Bob wasn't going to be able to find out for sure for some time now, so he tried to put such speculations out of his mind. Soon enough, of course, his thoughts inevitably turned to a more familiar subject: who else, but Bart Simpson?

Just the thought of the young boy's face was enough to cause his heartbeat to spike with rage (audibly, thanks to the machines monitoring his vital signs), and he took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Although he'd tried to forget the boy, forgiveness had been difficult in prison, where every second, his very surroundings were a reminder of the foiled murder attempts. The rest of the Terwilliger clan had been released ahead of schedule, due to good behavior and overcrowding in the prisons, but Bob, a repeat offender, had been forced to serve a much longer sentence. Not a day had gone by that he wasn't plagued by the image of Bart's smug face, laughing as Bob was once more hauled off to confinement, and, now finding himself again imprisoned (this time with far less to distract him from his hatred), he found his thoughts returning to morbid fantasies of revenge. He imagined the look of surprised horror on Bart's face when he finally delivered the killing blow, his vengeance only made that much sweeter by the long wait. Bart probably thought himself safe at this point, had most likely moved on with his life, forgetting that he had ruined Bob's. The most difficult part would be deciding upon a fitting death: he'd had a long time to plan, and he had _so_ many ideas. Bob only hoped that he would recognize his foe; Bart was in his twenties, and had _probably_ changed at least a little over the years. What if he found himself face to face with his nemesis, only to let him walk away unscathed due to ignorance?

The answer to his worries came far sooner than expected.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you're liking it so far… Bart will be in the next chapter, don't worry.

Honestly, I usually hate OCs, but I felt like they were necessary to make this work.

A few things you should know:

-As mentioned in the start of the fic, and as I'm sure you've gathered, this fic will get sad before it gets happy. It _will_ be happy eventually, I promise, but... there's a lot that needs to happen before that. I'm warning you now, there are some intense moments, and references to emotional, physical, and sexual abuse. There's nothing too terribly graphic, but it is pretty emotionally heavy at times.

-I did quite a bit of research for this fic, but I'll be the first to admit that I'm not an expert on abusive relationships or the legal system. I tried to be as accurate as possible, but if you spot any outright discrepancies or errors, please let me know. Also, keep in mind that this is Springfield, so sometimes things don't quite make sense (that's my excuse, anyway).

-I tend to be a little wordy, and this fic is pretty long. I've been working on it for a little over a year now, and I'm still not finished, although I do have enough to do quite a few chapters as it is.

-This was intended to be a Bort fic, and eventually there will be Bort, but that doesn't happen for a **long** time. Honestly, it might end up being in the sequel (because yes, I have parts of a sequel written before I've even finished this one. That's just how my mind works).

-I'll be updating, hopefully, about once a week- I'm going to aim for Sundays, but it might end up being Monday, depending on what's going on. I'm posting the first two chapters right now, just for kicks.

So... please let me know what you think. I really hope you enjoy this, and I look forward to hearing from you!

~A


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

* * *

Just a few (seemingly endless) days after his arrival, Bob heard a nurse's raised voice. His interest was immediately piqued; with nothing for entertainment save the mindless drivel spewing from the television mounted on the wall, he was grateful for any distraction.

"I know what you told us, but I also know this didn't happen in a fight!" He recognized the irritated voice of Amy, one of the day shift nurses.

"You know how I am, so why is it so hard to believe that I picked a fight with a couple of guys and got my ass handed to me?" The voice wafting down the hallway sent Bob's pulse into a frenzy, his heart rate and blood pressure monitors sounding the alarm, and raised the hair on the back of his neck, causing his sore skin to prickle uncomfortably against his dressings. Although the nasally whine had deepened somewhat, it was unmistakable to a man who had spent every night haunted by it, and every waking second trying to expel it from his mind. When he finally laid eyes on the boy, however, Bob was taken aback. Instead of the brazen, confident youth he'd expected, he found an unhealthily thin young man, with slumped shoulders and dark circles beneath his eyes.

"Because, you have no bruises on your knuckles- just the rest of your body," Amy said bitterly. They paused, just barely in sight. Ignoring the searing pain that shot through him, Bob craned his neck to get a better look. Bart did look older, but not much different, physically. His demeanor, though, had completely changed. He kept a good two feet of distance between himself and the nurse as he cradled one of his arms close to his body, shifting backward almost unconsciously if she moved closer, and he kept shooting anxious glances toward the doors and windows. Although his eyes never stopped darting around the room, they never once rose to meet the woman's concerned gaze, and he kept his head lowered. Bob held his breath as they landed briefly on his mummy-like form, but they didn't linger, and Bob retained his anonymity. Bart stood uncomfortably while Amy shuffled through the stack of papers in her hands, pulling out an x ray of a broken arm. "This is a spiral fracture, Bart. Do you know what that means?" She asked, her tone softening slightly.

"N-no," Bart stammered uncertainly, clutching his injured arm closer.

Bob knew...

"It's caused when someone twists your arm behind your back," she explained grimly, "hard enough to break it. Whoever did this did it on purpose, to hurt you. Why won't you tell us who it was?" Bart flinched even farther away from her, his eyes fixed firmly on his feet.

"I _told_ you what happened- I got in a fight, and I lost," he insisted, his voice so low Bob had to strain to make out his words. "They're not pressing charges, and neither am I, so don't worry about it." Amy threw her arms up in frustration.

"Bart, all you have to do is give us a name, and he'll never touch you again!" Bart remained silent, his expression determined, and Bob could tell that Amy was about to launch into a lecture, when Doctor Davis strode purposefully into the room.

"I'll handle it from here, Amy. Thank you." She opened her mouth to voice further protest, but the doctor fixed her with a firm glare. "I said, thank you, nurse, I have it under control." She lingered for a moment longer, and Bob was sure she would argue, but she simply turned on her heel and stormed away. The doctor turned to Bart. "I'm sorry," he said gently, "she means well; she's just concerned." Bart didn't speak, but relaxed visibly. "Let's get you patched up and out of here."

After Bart had been treated and released, Bob heard Amy, her raised voice carrying through a door left slightly ajar, confronting the doctor.

"What was that all about?" She demanded, "I'm perfectly capable of doing my job!"

"I know you are; it wasn't a matter of your abilities," explained Doctor Davis. "Only a matter of sensitivity."

"Sensitivity?!" She sounded outraged. "He's being _abused_ , Doctor. This is the third time in two months he's been in here with injuries indicative of domestic violence- and we've _both_ seen those x rays. Don't _try_ to tell me you don't know what's going on!"

"I know, Amy. Trust me, I know. We have to be careful, though, and handle this type of thing a little more delicately." Although he addressed her as calmly as possible, she was not appeased.

"We should be going to the police, right now!" She was shouting now, working herself into hysteria. "I mean, how much longer before he kills him?! He broke his arm; it's escalating, and it's just going to keep getting worse!"

"I am painfully aware of the situation, but we can't allow our own emotions to get in the way of doing what's really best for the patient. Our job is to help. Calm down, and think logically for a minute."

"What-" She sputtered.

"Think about it," He interrupted her, not unkindly. "Just listen to me, _please_. I've seen this before, unfortunately, and if we try to be too forceful, things could go very badly. If we go to the police, they'll investigate. We both know the force in this town is not known for their subtlety or competence; whoever the abuser is will be on his best behavior- he's gotten away with it for a long time, and there's no way he'll let them catch him in the act. If they ask Bart about it, they'll get about as far as you did, in regards to getting the truth out of him, and if Bart won't come forward- which he won't- there's nothing they can legally do about it, other than urge Bart to leave. It's wrong, and depressing, but that's the way the legal system works." He sighed wearily. "Or doesn't work, in this case. After they leave, it will just be worse for Bart. It wouldn't be hard to figure out that someone here called the police, and the last thing we want is for Bart to stop coming to the hospital- that could be life-threatening. Now, you're an outstanding nurse, but you are relatively new here. I've been treating Bart for long enough that he's started to trust me, little by little, which is very important in these situations. I'm not accusing you of insensitivity, but you _need_ to approach this a little more gently, or he'll close back up, and we'll _never_ reach him." There were a few moments of silence while the doctor's words sank in fully. When Amy spoke again, her voice was husky with suppressed emotion.

"I'm sorry, doctor. I just… I let my temper get away from me. It's so frustrating to see people come in, time and again, and lie to us to protect these… _monsters._ And they keep on going right back to them, when they could just… walk away. It doesn't make sense to me. I know it's never that simple, in their minds, but I have a hard time accepting that I have to let it happen."

"Honestly, people always assume that the hardest part of this profession is losing a patient. I disagree," confessed the doctor. "In my opinion, it's times like these, when we do all we can, and it feels like it's not enough- it's having to accept that we can't fix everything, and that we can't force someone to ask for help. It sounds harsh, but ultimately, it comes down to their decision to end the abuse. We just have to be supportive, let them know that there is help available, and be here for them in any way we can."

"How do you do it?" Amy's voice was barely audible, and Bob suspected that the tears that had threatened earlier had begun falling. "How do you stay strong and composed, in the face of all of this? How… do you get yourself out of bed, knowing what you're going to see?" Bob knew that medical school usually trained for the emotional trauma of patient death, but offered little preparation for other emotionally taxing situations.

"Well…" He seemed thoughtful, and when he spoke, it was some of the most heartfelt honesty Bob had ever heard. "Some days, I really don't think I can. I see the cruelty of humans, and the knowledge of so much _evil_ in the world threatens to overwhelm me. But we have to remember that all of our patients put their trust in us enough to come to us for help when they're hurt, and sick, and afraid, and we have to put our own feelings second, and be strong for _them._ They look to us for comfort, and if we can't put on a brave face, even when what we see breaks our hearts, they're the ones who suffer the most. It's a lot of responsibility, but it's worth it, to me, if I can help anyone stay brave through whatever hardships they face." He paused. "Victims of abuse believe that they don't deserve to be helped; their abuser convinces them that they deserve it, or that they did something to bring it upon themselves. They break them down, sometimes for years, and that kind of emotional damage can't be undone just by telling someone that it's not their fault. We have to _show_ them that someone cares about them, convince them through continuous support that they're worth saving. To someone who has no hope, even one person reaching out can give them the strength they need to pull themselves out of the cycle of abuse. So, on the days that I think I can't do it, I remember that we may be the only friendly faces they see, the only kindness they receive, and, that knowledge- that if I work hard enough, I might be able to give even one person the strength that they need... well, that has to be enough." Neither spoke for long enough that Bob wondered briefly if they'd walked away. "And if that's _still_ not enough for you, there's always hard liquor at the end of the day," the doctor added, as an afterthought. They both laughed, lessening the the intensity of the mood somewhat, but even their laughter was tinged with a subtle, tired sadness that Bob suspected never truly left them.

"Thank you, Doctor Davis. And thanks for not losing your patience with me." Amy's tone was sincere, but weary.

"I wasn't lying when I said that you're a wonderful nurse; this job takes a toll on even the strongest people. I'd be more concerned if it _didn't_ get to you. Go home, get some sleep, and think about what I told you. I really do think you have it in you to help people." Their footsteps retreated, once again leaving Bob with far too much to ponder, and nothing to distract him.

He stared at the ceiling, sleep out of the question, feeling strangely conflicted over this unexpected turn of events. He'd run through countless scenarios in his head, imagining their long overdue reunion, yet, none of them had accounted for anything like this. Every possibility he'd considered had been based on his complete, utter loathing of Bart, but this… this was something new. He almost didn't recognize the odd emptiness in his chest; the flame that had burned within him for so long had been abruptly extinguished. The sight of the boy no longer boiled his blood, only inspired in him a sort of sad pity.

After all, how could he focus his rage on one so downtrodden? Once, he'd considered Bart a worthy adversary, but he suspected that now he might simply lie down and let himself be slain. Even if he were to find the perfect moment for revenge, there would be little glory in triumphing over someone already so defeated.

For so long, he'd focused all of his energy on their feud; it had become a part of him, had shaped him in so many ways. Before Bart, he'd felt contempt for the babbling idiots surrounding him, but never the kind of murderous rage the boy inspired. Even his attempt to frame Krusty had lacked passion, born from sheer desperation.

For years, he'd been the butt of every one of Krusty's jokes, debased for the amusement of thousands. Despite the physical harm to himself, he'd complied, allowed the clown to ridicule him ceaselessly and even endanger his life.

But… why? Bob still wasn't sure why he'd let it go on so long. He supposed it hadn't been all terrible, especially in the early days of the show. There had been good times- before Krusty became so corrupt that he started harming his own friend for personal gain. Bob hadn't even realized what was happening, at first- after all, Krusty, too, took his fair share of pies to the face… but gradually, as the audience grew tired of the same jokes, Krusty started going to greater lengths to keep the ratings up, and the "gags" became more extreme- and more dangerous. It became apparent that Krusty didn't care how badly Bob got hurt, as long as the money kept coming. There came a day when Bob realized that if he didn't act, he would end up dead- and for what?

When Bart ruined his plan, it breathed new life into his directionless existence. His anger gave him something tangible to focus on, to strive toward. Although their relationship was based on mutual hatred, he couldn't deny that he'd never felt more alive than while plotting revenge against Bart. Every failure only fueled his determination more, and he found the challenge exhilarating.

Their constant game of cat and mouse had given him such purpose, inspired him in a way nothing else had been able to, and now, he'd been robbed of that by the worst sort of bully. Although Bart had been a menace, he'd been Bob's demon, and it almost felt like someone had encroached on his territory. Since Bob's darker side now needed a new outlet for its wrath, what better target than the person who had taken away his old enemy? He felt the familiar heat once again beginning to rise inside him, the flames had found new fuel upon which to feed, and he knew what he needed to do.

Lying in the hospital bed, unable to move- or even speak- he swore vengeance against whomever had been terrorizing Bart. Even if it killed him, he would see the tyrant fall.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading; I hope you're still enjoying it. I do feel really bad doing this to Bart.

Some of the chapters will end up being much longer, depending on how things work out. I just sorta wrote the whole thing in one block, so I'm trying my best to divide it into chapters that make sense.

Please let me know what you think! I'll do my best to reply to reviews, and I'll have another chapter up next week!

~A


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

* * *

For the next few weeks, Bob was even more consumed by his thoughts of revenge than he'd thought possible; the options were endless, and he found the prospect of a new quarry invigorating. The fact that his prey had no idea that he was even being hunted sent shivers down his spine; the element of surprise was _his_ , and he could only imagine the look on the coward's face when he realized that _he_ had become the victim.

It was even more satisfying, knowing that when the moment of truth came, Bob would be almost heroic in his actions. After all, he would be doing the world a service, ridding it of the kind of scum who found pleasure in torturing those weaker than himself. Bob had wanted Bart dead, surely, but had never had any interest in drawing out his suffering. Torture, in his mind, was for sick individuals, who craved respect, but could never earn it, and so convinced themselves that they were powerful by inflicting pain upon those unable to defend themselves.

Although this new enemy was unknown, he'd been surrounded by the same kind of person in prison- he'd spent years studying his fellow inmates, and he knew that abuse often masked insecurity; the abusers clung to the illusion of power that they'd created, needing to be in control of someone else, since they themselves felt helpless in some way.

Bob needed to find a way to rob the abuser of that control, deprive him of his scapegoat- once he was brought down from the pedestal upon which he'd placed himself, the rest would be easy.

He found that the time passed more quickly, now that his mind was occupied, although he still wasn't healing as fast as he would have hoped. He was itching to be free, but if he could handle years in a stinking cage, he could deal with a few months in a cushy bed, with his every need being catered to 24 hours a day. He just had to be a little more patient, and soon enough, the fiend would be within his grasp.

"Doctor," Amy's voice shook him from his thoughts. "Doctor, can I speak with you?" Doctor Davis looked up from the desk where he was working through a tall tower of paperwork.

"What is it?" Amy lowered her voice, but the acoustics in the large room worked to Bob's advantage.

"It's Bart." Suddenly, Bob was on full alert, hanging on her every word. "He's in the lobby, and it looks like his nose might be broken. I think you'd better handle this one."

"Are you still having trouble? I understand if you want to sit this out," the doctor offered, and Bob was again struck by his overwhelming kindness.

"It's not that- I mean, yes, it really bothers me, but- he won't even look at anyone else… He's in a bad state. I'm pretty sure he walked here. I just feel like it would be better if you were there; I think a familiar face would be best for him." The doctor didn't say a word, merely pushed aside the stack of work, his lips pursed grimly, and followed her out of the room.

He returned a few minutes later, a bloodied Bart in tow. He looked even worse than the last time Bob had seen him. His arm was still in the cast, and he was so thin Bob could see his shoulder blades through his t-shirt. In addition to the still bleeding nose that he clutched with his uninjured arm, both eyes were blackened, one of them badly enough that it had swollen shut, and his bottom lip was split. Bruises speckled every inch of visible skin, some of them fresh, angry and purple, others faded to a sickly yellow-green. Even from across the ward, Bob could see the boy trembling, and something inside him seemed to snap. The corners of his vision went hazy for a moment, and he felt his temperature rise as the blood rushed to his face. How anyone could do this to another human being was beyond him, and it filled him with emotions he wasn't entirely comfortable with. He felt oddly… protective of Bart, and it was in such contrast with the feelings he'd harbored for so long… He realized, with a sickening sensation, that he didn't want revenge solely because his prey had been taken from him- he actually cared what happened to Bart.

"Bart," murmured the doctor. "I'm going to put this on your eye, and it will bring down the swelling, okay?" Bart nodded, carefully avoiding eye contact. "Here, lie back." The doctor patted one of the beds a few down from Bob. Bart was so close, that his wince as he lay down was evident to Bob- and to Doctor Davis, judging by the brief flash of anger that flickered across his face. Moving slowly, not to startle Bart, he gingerly pressed a cool compress to the obstructed eye. Despite his care, Bart still flinched, ever-so-slightly at the contact. "Alright, tilt your head back, and keep this on it. I'll get something to clean your nose." He left momentarily, returning with an armful of supplies. "Is it okay if I give you something for the pain?" Bart gave a curt nod, and the doctor administered the drug.

Within a few minutes, Bart began to look slightly less anxious, some of the tension in his shoulders dispersing. "Okay, now I'm going to start cleaning away some of the blood so I can get a better look, but it will still hurt a little." He explained the process to Bart as he worked, putting the boy more at ease. When most of the blood had been cleared, he inspected it closely, shaking his head. Bob could see the large bump on the bridge where the cartilage was out of place. "Well, it's definitely broken, and unfortunately, I'm going to have to put it back into place, or it will heal crooked, and you could have respiratory problems in the future." Bart didn't respond. "It's going to hurt quite a bit, and I'm sorry for that in advance…" Bart gave another short nod, and braced himself as the doctor felt along the bridge of his nose. "At the count of three," The doctor instructed. Bart closed his eyes, the muscles in his jaw clenched. "One… two…" Bob didn't want to watch, but felt almost duty-bound not to look away. "Three!"With an audible crunch, the doctor snapped the nose back into shape in one deft move. Bob had expected Bart to cry out in pain, but he didn't allow even a whimper to escape- merely gritted his teeth and clutched the edge of the mattress with his usable hand. "Great job, Bart. I really am sorry, I know that wasn't pleasant." The doctor held gauze to Bart's nose, which was bleeding freely again. "Can you hold this here for me?" Bart complied silently. Throughout the entire ordeal, he hadn't said a word. "Bart… I'm not going to ask you what happened." Bob didn't miss the flash of relief in Bart's expression. "But I have to ask you if there's any way you'd stay here tonight?" Before the words were even fully formed, Bart's answer was written across his face.

"I think I'd better get back, but thanks," Bart said quietly. Doctor Davis paused.

"I just worry that the next time you come to me, it will be in a body bag. I won't push you, but know that my door is always open if you need anything. If you need a place to stay, you're welcome in my home for as long as you need. Please, just remember that." Bart nodded, his eyes trained on the ground.

"I will… Thank you."

"Do you need a ride? I can have someone take you home," offered the doctor. Bart shook his head, cringing as the motion jostled his tender nose.

"No, my ride should be here. Thanks, though." The doctor sighed heavily.

"All right, I'll walk you to the door." The two left the room. Clearly, Bart's situation was a serious one- the regularity with which he seemed to frequent the emergency room troubled Bob. If his abuser was that volatile, then the doctor's fears were well-founded.

He soon heard a car pull up outside. He listened for a moment, but whoever it was kept the engine running, waiting in the car. He cursed his state of infirmity; if only he could get to the window and just _see_ who he was up against! He knew the man was right outside, and Bob couldn't even lay eyes on him. After a few minutes, someone (presumably Bart) got in, and the car drove away.

"Sure, he won't even bring him to the hospital, but he'll make sure he gets his hands back on him!" Amy burst into the room, followed by an exhausted-looking Doctor Davis. The man was rubbing his temples, his glasses in one hand.

"I know, Amy… I tried to get him to at least stay the night, and I offered to let him stay at my place, but… he's so frightened." He collapsed wearily into his chair.

"Doctor… I'm really worried." Amy paced the floor, absently biting her nails. "If it goes on like this any longer, he's going to kill him. I know you said we can't call the police, but isn't there _anything_ we can do?" The doctor stared blankly at the papers he'd been working on. "What about his family? If we reach out to them, maybe they can talk some sense into him." Doctor Davis shook his head.

"Amy... the first time I met Bart, he was a different person. It was long before all of this, back when he was in middle school. He used to be so light-hearted and full of energy… he was a daredevil, and he got into his fair share of trouble. I had just started here, and Bart had _tried-_ tried being the operative word- to jump a rather tall set of stairs on his skateboard. It was nothing serious, just a few stitches, but he didn't make it easy for me. As soon as I opened the door, I got a bucketful of water on my head- before I'd even met him, he'd played a prank on me, and he didn't stop there. It was frustrating, but I refused to let a preteen get the best of me. Every time he would visit, whether for a routine checkup, or a stunt gone wrong, it was _something._ Once, he colored around the eyepiece on my otoscope with a sharpie, so that I had a ring of _very_ permanent ink around my eye for the rest of the day; another time, he wrote 'eat my shorts' on an entire roll of the sanitary paper that covers the beds. He even rolled it back up so that we didn't find it until we were getting the room ready for the next patient." He smiled wistfully, thinking of the Bart that Bob remembered. "We never did figure out how he managed that with no one noticing- we learned pretty quickly never to leave him unattended. Still, I never lost my patience, or showed any kind of frustration with him, and after a while… He just stopped. It was like I'd earned his respect, by tolerating his pranks without losing my patience. Of course, I wasn't the only one he played tricks on- he was infamous around Springfield for being a bit of a neighborhood menace, but it was never anything harmful or truly mean-spirited. He really was a good kid, he just liked messing with people, loved making them laugh at his antics."

"The year he graduated high school, I started seeing a change in him. Little things, at first- he wasn't as outgoing as he had been, and he started losing weight, but I didn't put too much stock into it- after all, people do change. But soon enough, it was obvious that _something_ was going on. He stopped smiling altogether, and stopped making jokes, so I finally asked him if everything was okay. He assured me that he was just stressed out by school, but he wouldn't look me in the eyes. It was obvious that he wasn't happy, and I started to worry."

His expression darkened. "One day, I saw him in the parking lot outside the Kwik-e-mart, where he worked at the time. There was this guy there, just screaming at him, about what a liar Bart was, and how he knew he was cheating on him- Bart kept trying to assure him that he wasn't, but the other guy just got angrier and angrier the more Bart said." The doctor closed his eyes, as if the memory was too painful. "He punched him, hard. He knocked him to the ground, and just drove off, leaving him lying there on the pavement." The anger on his face bled into his voice. "He didn't care what happened to him then, and he certainly doesn't care now. I took a look at him, and he had a concussion, so I made him go with me to the hospital. I contacted the police to report that I'd witnessed an assault, but of course, the store had no cameras in the parking lot. Bart told the authorities that it was just a random stranger who'd thought he was someone else, and I didn't get a good enough look at him to identify him. Bart refused to press charges, so the case died. I tried my hardest to convince him to tell me the man's name, but he wouldn't say a word about it. He did tell me, though, that his family had no idea he was gay, and begged me not to say anything to them about it. He was so desperate, I promised that his secret was safe, but I implored him to leave, tried to explain to him that people like that just don't stop, no matter how many times they apologize, and say they'll change." He sighed heavily. "Obviously, it wasn't enough. Every time I brought it up, he would just close right up. For fear of pushing him away entirely, I stopped trying to convince him, but every time he ends up here because of something that man has done, I remind him that he always has somewhere safe to go."

"I'm torn, because I know his sister, Lisa, would be understanding, and I think she could really help him. She volunteers in the free clinic- she finished high school by the time she was fifteen, and has been working on her nursing degree. She's only twenty, but she's starting her internship at the Shelbyville hospital in a few months. I know she would be supportive, but he was adamant that his family not know about any of this, and I did promise him… If I talk to her, and he finds out, he would never trust me again. I can't even be sure she would be able to help, and I can't risk pushing him away." The weight of the situation was evident in the doctor's body language- his shoulders sagged, and his face held far too many lines for someone his age. "It's gotten worse in the last few months- as you've seen, he's been in here more than ever before. It's so discouraging, because I know that I might never get through to him, but I have to keep trying; I won't give up on Bart."

The two jumped when the front intercom buzzed, paging Doctor Davis to the front desk.

"I'd better finish my rounds," Amy said huskily, wiping her eyes. The doctor scooped up the papers.

"Well, looks like I'll have some homework. Not that I'd be sleeping much anyway." When he was gone, Amy gazed out the window absently for a spell, lost in thought. She then turned, quickly replacing her forlorn look with a forced smile, and came to change Bob's bandages.

"Hello, how are we doing today?" She asked cheerfully, and Bob was impressed with her acting, although the bubbly tone wasn't quite enough to offset the emptiness behind her eyes. Her hands were gentle as she unwrapped his limbs. "Looks like you're healing up pretty well here; just a month or so, and you'll be on your way out!" Bob had never heard sweeter words- the sooner he was out of here, the sooner he could have Bart's tormenter in his clutches.

Although he detested torture, he might be tempted to make an exception, in this case…

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! Hopefully you're still enjoying this, although this chapter is pretty sad. I feel really bad doing this to Bart, but this idea just popped into my head, and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it.

The next chapter is going to be really intense. I hope you're ready!

~A


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

* * *

Almost a week after Bart's last visit, as the sun was beginning to set, a car raced into the parking lot. Bob heard the squeal of brakes- and, a few moments later, a hysterical female voice at the front desk.

"You have to help me, please!" That voice- it was so familiar… "My brother is in the car. He needs a stretcher and a neck support; he fell down a flight of stairs, and I'm not sure if there's been spinal trauma, but there looks to be abdominal internal bleeding." Bob's thoughts were racing, his heart pounding loudly in his ears, and he was on his feet and on the way to the window before he even registered the pain- or the machines protesting loudly. He made it just in time to see an emergency room nurse wheeling a barely recognizable Bart on a stretcher. His face was badly bruised, and he was covered in blood from his nose, which must have been broken again. To Bob's dismay, he was unconscious. He dragged himself to the door to listen, wincing as his skin stretched and tore. "He was conscious when I found him; he called me and said he needed help, and told me where to find him, but said he didn't want me to call an ambulance, or tell our parents…" She sounded shaken, and a little distant with shock. "I don't know any of his medical or insurance information, and there was no one else home. I-I'm sorry-"

"Don't worry about any of that, we have all his files here, and we'll take care of him. Why don't you have a seat?" Amy offered. "Can I get you something from the vending machine- water, or anything?"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you. Just… please, let me know as soon as anything changes?"

"We'll keep you informed, just as soon as we know anything- I promise. And don't hesitate to ask if there's anything we can do for you." He heard footsteps approaching, and hurried back to his bed, making it just as Amy entered the room. She frowned when she saw Bob, all of his vital sign monitors still disconnected. "What have you been doing in here? I know it's boring, but you can't be moving around," she scolded as she hooked him back up. "Look, you're healing well, but now you've ruptured a few blisters; if you're not careful, you'll get bad scarring." Until she'd pointed it out, he hadn't really noticed the wetness on his bandages or the way they rubbed against his now exposed under layer of skin, so engrossed was he in the Simpson drama unfolding the next room over.

Amy began removing the soiled bandages on his arms and legs, and he was shocked at the sight of his own marred skin. He hadn't realized the extent of the damage until now. Most of the skin on his limbs was covered with scabs and blisters, a few of which had broken and now oozed angrily. Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at it. "We're a little shorthanded tonight, and they need me in surgery for an emergency," she told him, working quickly to remove the rest of the soaked gauze. "I'm going to take these off, so they don't heal to your skin, but I'll have to come back in a little bit to dress it properly. It will be fine uncovered for a while, as long as you don't move. So no more getting out of bed," she said firmly, giving him a stern look that told him she meant business.

"I can help," came a small voice from the doorway. Amy started, neither she nor Bob had noticed Lisa follow her; he recognized her immediately. She'd grown, of course, but her hair was still short and spiked, and the intelligence in her eyes was unmistakable.

"Lisa, you should be trying to relax, you've had a very emotional night." Lisa shook her head emphatically.

"I can't just sit in there, waiting while my brother might be dying! I'm going to be starting my internship in a few months anyway; I can handle a simple dressing. Please, let me do something," she begged. "I'll go crazy in that room." Amy sighed, clearly debating.

"I don't know… you're still technically a student." Her phone buzzed again, and she sighed. She turned to Bob. "As long as you don't object, I guess it's fine… we'll check on you as soon as we have available staff." Bob wasn't surprised to hear that Lisa was in medical school, only that she wasn't yet Doctor Simpson. He was careful not to meet Lisa's desperate gaze, lest she recognize him.

"Mm-hmm," he grunted, giving his consent.

"All right, Lisa, come with me, and I'll get what you'll need. He's being treated for third-degree sunburns." the two hurried to retrieve the necessary supplies while Amy quickly briefed Lisa on Bob's condition before rushing to the emergency room, leaving Bob alone with Lisa. When she wasn't looking, he curled his toes inside his socks, making his feet look as small as possible. She sat for a moment in the chair near his bed, taking a few breaths before giving him a shaky smile.

He was distressed by the sadness and worry in her eyes. He'd always liked Lisa more than the rest of her family, finding her to be shockingly intelligent, and a rather engaging conversationalist. They'd even had some good times together, and it pained him to see her so distraught.

"Hi, I'm Lisa, which you probably figured out. I _am_ still technically a student, but if it makes you feel any better, I'm also _technically_ considered a genius, and the top of my class. Plus, I've done a lot of volunteer work at the free clinic, so I've had experience in the field." Bob had no doubt about her abilities. "I'm going to start by disinfecting the areas where the skin has broken, so that it doesn't get infected," she explained as she washed her hands and donned one of the disposable aprons, a facemask, and a pair of sterile gloves. "It will sting a little, but I'll be careful, and I'll try to be as quick as possible."

He tried not to show too much discomfort, but couldn't suppress a sharp intake of breath as the antiseptic began working on his raw flesh. "Almost done," she assured him, her voice almost motherly. Bob thought that she'd chosen the right line of work; she worked quickly and professionally, while still managing to be comforting, despite her own internal anguish. "Ok, this ointment will relieve some of the pain, and also help against infection." Bob relaxed as she spread the soothing cream over the afflicted areas, lessening the pain considerably. "That's a little better, isn't it?" She smiled at him again, this time looking a little less upset. She truly loved helping people, and Bob knew she would make an excellent doctor. "Thank you for letting me help you…" The sorrow crept back into her voice. "My brother is having emergency surgery right now, and I just feel so helpless, not being able to do anything for him." She was silent for a moment, seeming to be deep in thought. When she spoke again, her voice was weary.

"Tonight is the first time I've seen him in over a year," she confided as she began wrapping his legs with bandages. "He's been so distant, and I know something's wrong, but he won't talk to me, and I don't know what I did wrong. We used to be best friends, and now I feel like I don't even know him. My family and I thought he was out of state at college, but then I saw him at the grocery store. He pretended like he didn't see me, and took off before I could catch up to him; I still haven't told them, because I don't want them to worry any more than they do already. I've called him a million times, but he never answers, and the only time he called me back was when I threatened to report him missing. He said he was fine, that he just needed some time to himself to figure some things out, but it just sounded so… rehearsed. I don't know what to think any more.

"Then tonight, he called me to come get him from some house, where he's apparently been living, and told me not to call an ambulance or tell our parents. He was lying at the bottom of the stairs- he said he fell, but he had other injuries, like someone had beaten him up. I was trying to save his life, and he wouldn't even be honest with me about what had happened. I'm just worried that he's involved in something dangerous." She sniffled as she secured the final bandage. "I'm sorry," she apologized, her voice breaking as the tears she'd been fighting finally fell. "I know you don't care about any of this, it's just nice to be able to talk to someone…" She didn't know how wrong she was- Bob _did_ care, so much that it almost frightened him.

Careful not to undo all of her hard work, he reached out his hand, laying it gently on her arm in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. She smiled gratefully at him through her tears.

"Thanks… Here, let me get you a fresh blanket." She went to the linen closet, coming back with a new blanket, and, to Bob's alarm, a clean pair of socks.

"Mph," He mumbled, trying to dissuade her as she went to remove his (admittedly sweaty) pair.

"Don't worry; you've been so patient listening to me, it's the least I can do." Bob prayed that she wouldn't notice his distinct feet. She peeled off the first one, her hand freezing in midair as his toes uncurled to their full length. She slowly turned to look into his eyes, recognition dawning on her features. "Sideshow Bob?" She whispered. Bob closed his eyes, not wanting to see the hatred that was sure to be written there. "W-what happened to you? We didn't even know you were out of prison." She didn't sound angry, merely… curious? He opened his eyes again to see her peering intently at him. "It is you!" She glanced around furtively, and finding the ward still deserted, loosened the bandage enough to allow his lips to move minutely. "Here, if I put some extra ointment on your face, you should be able to talk a little, as long as you're very careful." She hurriedly slathered the cream on the lower part of his face. "Just don't move your lips very much, if you can help it. When did you get out? How did you end up here?"

"Just over a month ago," he said gingerly, his voice weak from the long days of silence. "Cecil didn't pick me up from the prison, so I tried to walk… with short sleeves and pants… through a desert." She winced, knowing the effects of UV rays on the sensitive skin of redheads. Her expression morphed, becoming deadly serious.

"Bob, I know you and Bart had problems in the past, but he's changed, and I _won't_ let you hurt him!" She stared defiantly down at him, seeming to forget that, for the moment, he was her bedridden patient. Bob cleared his throat.

"I saw him, Lisa. Here, a week ago. Someone broke his nose, and his arm, a few weeks earlier." Sadness and shock flashed across her face.

"What- who? Did you hear?" Bob didn't want to have to tell her, but he knew that if anyone could help Bart, it was Lisa.

"He wouldn't tell them, but," He swallowed uncomfortably, his skin beginning to smart, despite the care he was taking not to strain it. "I heard the staff conversing," he explained, dreading the next sentence. It was sure to break her heart, but then, that was what he had always been best at: hurting the Simpson children. "Apparently, he's been in the hospital fairly regularly… Someone's been abusing him, Lisa, and it's been going on for some time." He watched as the news washed over her. She didn't really look surprised, just sad, and angry.

"Stupid!" She exclaimed, covering her face with her hands. "It's so obvious; how could I not have recognized the signs? Everything fits!" She berated herself. "Oh, I should have done something sooner; I knew something was wrong…" She suddenly turned to Bob- _there_ was the hatred he'd expected earlier, the emotion looking out of place on her normally pacifistic face. "You! I'll bet you're just loving this, aren't you?" she spat. "You've spent the last decade wanting to watch Bart suffer, and now you've got a front row seat! I won't let you keep getting off on his pain! I'll tell them who you are, and have you moved far away from here, where you can't _ever_ get to him!" The tears were flowing freely now, and Bob wasn't sure if there was anything he could say to convince her of his changed outlook.

"Lisa, please listen. I… don't hate him any more, and I no longer wish him any harm."

"Why should I trust you? All you've ever done is lie to us, and try to kill us." She was right, of course.

"I don't blame you if you don't; whether you believe me or not, you need to know that I never expected to feel this way. But you're correct- he is different. When I saw the state he was in- everything changed. I can't bring myself to feel the way I did before, though believe me, I've tried." His skin was throbbing, but he _needed_ to make her understand. "The Bart Simpson I've despised for so long, who I wanted dead- he perished long ago, at the hands of the monster who put him here tonight. Plotting against him gave my life purpose, and now, I feel… obsolete. I need to do _something_. Let me help; please, let me remain here, and when I am released… allow you to help you get your brother back." She looked wary.

"Bob… If Bart survives this… I can't lose him. Any more than I already have, I mean. I'll do whatever it takes to bring him home, to keep him safe. I will find out who's been hurting him, and I _will_ bring them down. If you truly want to help me, then I'd be happy to have your help- I considered you a friend, once, before you betrayed my trust. I _want_ to believe that you've changed, but if you so much as lay a _finger_ on him- I will destroy you," she vowed. Bob knew that she meant it, and had the conviction and ability to succeed.

"I swear to you, no harm will befall him at my hand. I am a man of my word, Lisa, and once I am freed from this accursed place, I shall help you." Lisa allowed a small, hopeful smile.

"Bob… I know you hated Bart… but I don't think he ever _really_ hated you. Yes, we ruined your plans, but what were we supposed to do? Krusty was Bart's hero; he couldn't just sit idly by, knowing the truth, while Krusty took the fall. And after that, you were always trying to kill him; of course we had to do _something_! I have to wonder, though- why didn't you hate me like you hated him? I was just as big a part in your downfall as he was, on countless occasions. I ruined your life just as thoroughly as he- so why only him?" Again, she didn't sound angry- although Bob knew that he would have deserved it- just genuinely interested.

"I…" Bob stopped. For once in his life, couldn't find the words to describe the way Bart had affected him.

"I suppose he was just so much more infuriating than you could ever hope to be," Bob said truthfully, although it sounded like an incomplete explanation, even to his own ears. Lisa smiled tearfully, allowing a small chuckle to escape.

"That was _almost_ a compliment," she joked, and Bob felt an unexpected wave of relief that she seemed to accept him. He'd anticipated more animosity, but based on the red lotus pendant she wore around her neck, she was still a Buddhist, and when Bob had known her in the past, she had taken their views on forgiveness and compassion to heart. He was pleased to see that she hadn't wavered on her morals and beliefs- unlike himself. As he returned her smile, a warm trickle of blood hit his lips. Lisa grimaced. "Oh Bob, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let you talk that much… You always were too wordy for your own good," she said, her smile warm and humorous. "I have to wrap you back up. If it's okay with you, though…" She trailed off, fidgeting with the edge of the smock.

"What is it, Lisa?" She touched the back of her head self-consciously.

"Is it alright if… if I wait in here with you? Just until Bart is out of surgery, then I'll leave you alone. I'd just rather… be around someone right now. Other than the receptionist and the sick people, that is," she added ruefully.

"Of course you may remain here, as long as necessary." His answer was immediate and automatic. How could it be anything but yes? She flashed him a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Bob. I won't let on that I know you," she assured him. She began re-bandaging his face. "There is just one thing." Her tone turned serious, and Bob held his breath. "You have _got_ to let me examine your feet sometime. It shouldn't be physically possible for you to bend them like that."

"Anything, in the pursuit of scientific knowledge," he promised as she tightened the bandage, and he was once again unable to speak.

The two of them sat in near silence for almost three hours. Bob was fairly certain that Lisa was meditating for most of it, but he found himself appreciating her quiet companionship nonetheless. He was more concerned about Bart than he would have liked to admit, and her company was surprisingly soothing. When an exhausted-looking Amy finally opened the door, Bob strained his eyes, searching her face for any clue. To his immense relief, she wore a tired but accomplished smile: Bart had survived.

"Hi, Lisa. Bart's doing well. His spleen ruptured in the fall, but we were able to repair the damage without any complications."

"Oh!" A cross between a gasp and a sob erupted from Lisa's chest as she threw her arms around the nurse. "Thank you, so much. I can't tell you..." She trailed off, but Amy nodded understandingly, holding Lisa until she'd composed herself. She wiped her eyes. "When can I see him?"

"Well, we'll be moving him in here shortly, but he won't be fully conscious until tomorrow. You can stay with him if you'd like, but it would probably be best for you to go home and try to get some rest. We'll keep a close eye on him, and be sure to let you know immediately if there are any changes." Lisa sighed; Bob could tell that she was reluctant to leave her brother, but she knew that Amy was right. She agreed to return first thing in the morning.

She stood by anxiously as Doctor Davis wheeled Bart's bed into the room, stationing him near the door. Lisa glanced at Bob, who seemed unable to tear his own gaze from Bart's paper-white face.

"Is there any way we could put him over here?" Lisa asked, gesturing towards Bob. "I just don't want him to be alone, if he wakes up when you're not in the room."

"I don't see why not," The doctor conceded. Lisa helped Amy remove the empty bed, and Bob suddenly found himself so close to Bart that he could have reached out and touched him with almost no effort. "We'll give you some time with him."  
As the doctor followed Amy out of the ward, Lisa stopped him.

"Doctor Davis?" He turned to look at her. "Thank you for saving Bart's life. I will never be able to repay you for what you've done for Bart, and my family."

"Just be kind to him," he spoke deliberately, careful not to say anything that would betray Bart's confidence in him. "Do your best to help him through anything that might be going on with him, and most importantly, be there for him if he needs you. That's all the payment I ask."

"I won't let you down," she swore, "And I'll _never_ let Bart down. Thank you, again." The doctor left, and Lisa went to Bart's side. She stood between his bed and Bob's, looking sadly at his unconscious form. "Oh, Bart. How did this happen to you?" She stroked his cheek lovingly, then bent down and kissed his forehead, before turning to Bob. "Keep an eye on him, Bob. I'll be back every day, so if you let anything happen to him, I'll make your life _very_ unpleasant." She didn't elaborate, leaving it to Bob's imagination. He gestured slightly at his own bed. "I don't care what shape you're in- if Bart is in danger, you help him. I'll perform the plastic surgery myself, if it causes scarring." She smiled wryly. "I'm sure I could get that degree in a year or two." She was joking, but Bob didn't doubt that she really _could_ , if she put her mind to it. He gave her a thumbs-up, and she nodded in acknowledgement. "Thank you. I'll see you both tomorrow." She leaned in again, her face close to Bart's pillow. "Don't ever forget how much I love you," she whispered, kissing him once more, "and don't _ever_ give up." She gave him one last, long look before closing the door behind her, leaving Bob alone with Bart.

The proximity seemed unreal: every time he'd seen Bart recently had been from a distance, and Bob was struck by how much worse he looked up close. He appeared even frailer in the large bed, the various IVs and monitors seeming to loom above his malnourished frame. At this range, he could see countless bruises and abrasions, as well as numerous scars all over his arms- he suspected grimly that they covered the rest of his body, as well. His expression was calm and untroubled, and he looked peaceful, in his sedated state- at least for a while, he would be able to rest, out of the shadow of his tormentor.

With Bart sleeping just a few feet away, Bob couldn't get Lisa's question from earlier out of his head. Why _did_ he hate Bart so singularly? As she'd said, she'd caused him as much strife as Bart, time and time again, and she usually seemed to see through his plans before anyone else. Somehow, though, it was more acceptable to him to be defeated by Lisa. Even then, she had been far more intelligent than everyone around her (adults included), and Bob understood the feeling. To be trumped by Bart, though was just humiliating. He was the opposite of Lisa in so many ways, and Bob had always been scornful of his crass, unsophisticated mentality.

Yet, despite his lack of IQ, Bart had still thwarted him repeatedly. To be consistently bested by one so uneducated was like a slap in the face. How could he consider himself a mastermind, when he couldn't even outfox a ten-year-old delinquent? It all seemed so… childish, in retrospect. He'd been trying to prove that he was smarter and better than Bart, but to what end?

Even if he had been successful in ending Bart's life, would have been happier? He would never know for sure, now, but he had a nagging suspicion that he wouldn't have been- and perhaps a part of him had known that all along. Why else would he constantly stall and falter in the final moments? How else could he become 'accustomed to his face' in such a short period of time? He had convinced himself that his sentimentality that night had been the result of a sort of Pavlovian effect- the response to the constant negative reinforcement causing him to associate murderous thoughts with the pain of the electrical shock- but there had been _so_ many other times that he'd had Bart helpless in his clutches. Still, he allowed him to walk away unscathed- he had even saved his life! It had been instinctive, to protect him that day at the dam-when Bart had been thrown over the edge, Bob had leapt after him without a second thought. Now… he felt like that urge had never actually left him.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading!

reviews would be appreciated.

I'm sick right now, and my brain is like mush, so I don't know what else to put in this author's note. Hopefully, it won't last long.

See you next week!

~A


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

* * *

The next day, as promised, Lisa returned as soon as her classes were finished. Although Bart was still unconscious, she sat by his bed, working on homework. Every now and then, Bob saw her glance at her brother's sleeping face, as if reassuring herself that he was really there. When he finally stirred, she jumped to her feet.

"Hey, Bart," she greeted him softly as he opened his eyes. He looked around, confused for a moment, before a look of fear crossed his features.

"What time is it?" He struggled to sit up, but she lay her hand on his shoulder.

"Bart, you have to rest!" She insisted.

"What day is it?" His voice, though weak, rose an octave in panic. "I have to go!"

"Bart, you _need_ to stay put. You almost died!" Her voice betrayed her desperation.

"You don't understand, Lisa. I can't stay here!"

"I'm afraid you'll have to, Bart." Doctor Davis entered the room, holding Bart's medical charts. "You really did almost die last night, Bart. The only reason you're still with us is because Lisa got you here so quickly. You made the right decision, calling her when you did." Bob noticed that Bart was avoiding his sister's gaze, even though her own was fixed on his face.

"Thank you, Lisa, and Doctor Davis, but I really do have to go." A tear rolled down his cheek, and he hurriedly wiped it away.

"I have to insist that you remain hospitalized for at least a week," The doctor insisted firmly.

"A week!" Finally, Bart raised his eyes, but still didn't look at Lisa. "I can't!"

"You can, and you will!" Lisa cried. "I won't let you kill yourself because you're too stubborn to accept it!" Bart closed his eyes, clearly in a state of panic. The doctor glanced at the monitors. Bart's heart rate was steadily rising as he became more and more upset.

"Bart, try to calm down. You're putting too much stress on your body. I'll have to give you another sedative, if you keep straining yourself. It's very important that you rest and allow yourself to recover. We had to operate to repair a tear in your spleen, and if you exert yourself too much right away, you run the risk of more internal bleeding." Bart started to argue, but fell silent, biting his lip anxiously.

"Can I at least have my phone?" Lisa sighed, handing over a cell phone.

"Here. I found it next to you, when I picked up your broken body from the bottom of the stairs," she said bitterly, and the doctor gave her a reproachful look. Bart snatched it from her outstretched hand, and, ignoring his audience, began texting. Almost immediately, it chimed with a response- and then again, and again. His face paled.

"A week?" He asked quietly. "You're sure I can't leave sooner?"

"At least a week," The doctor clarified. "Although it could be longer. Your condition is very serious, Bart, and it's crucial that you don't overexert yourself." Bart closed his eyes again, defeated.

"Fine. But if I can get out of here sooner, please let me know…"

"I will, Bart. Don't worry. I'm going to let you two catch up, but there's a call button next to your bed if you need anything." He left them alone in the room.

"Where do you have to be that's so important?" Lisa sounded almost accusatory, and Bob could tell that her desperation was getting the best of her. Bart looked away.

"Don't worry about it, Lisa. It's not your problem." She was at a loss for words for a moment, her hurt evident.

"Bart… I love you." He shifted uncomfortably. "No matter what you're going through, I love you so much. It _is_ my problem; you almost died, and you won't even tell me what happened. Don't-" she cut him off as he began to protest. "Don't lie to me, and say you _just_ fell down the stairs. You _know_ I'm not that stupid; I saw your injuries, and I saw your x rays…. all those old injuries? What's going on, Bart? Just _look at me_!" Her voice broke, and Bart finally looked into his sister's eyes. Their expressions mirrored one another; both held so much pain, and so many things unsaid.

"Lisa, please," he begged. "Leave it alone. Just leave me alone, and don't worry about it."

"But who hurt you, Bart? _Someone_ did, I'm not an idiot!"

"Really, Lisa? Because it sounds like you're a lot more stupid than I remember! Did you forget all the trouble I'm always getting into? I brought _all_ of this on myself!" Bart burst out, and for just an instant, Bob thought he saw a spark of Bart's old spirit showing through. Just as quickly, though, it was gone. "I'm fine; I'll bet everyone is a lot happier anyway; you guys are better off without me. All I ever did was stress Mom out, and drive Homer to drink more than he did anyway. Just go home, Lisa, and be happy that you don't have to worry about me any more." Bob felt a twinge of sadness at the conviction with which Bart spoke: he actually _believed_ what he was saying.

"How can you say that, Bart? Of course I'm going to worry about you, for as long as you stay away. You were never a burden; you're part of our family! Sure, it's different, with you gone, but _not_ better. You think you stressed Mom out before? You should see how worried she is now! You never call, and she thinks it's because of something she did! She thinks you're mad at her, because she let Dad treat you badly! Trust me, Dad still drinks _just_ as much, if not more, than when you were around. And Maggie…" She paused, her expression weary. "She just misses her big brother. She keeps asking me why you don't visit, and I don't know what to tell her. We _both_ miss our brother." She angrily scrubbed away the tears that had begun streaming down her cheeks. "I just want you back."

Now, Bart had tears on his cheeks, too. He shook his head.

"You wouldn't say that if you knew me now. I've changed, Lisa, and you wouldn't like who I am now."

"That's ridiculous. I'm sorry, but it is. I'll always love you, no matter what. And regardless, you don't deserve to be treated like a punching bag. Bart…" she smiled wryly. "If you think we'll love you any less because you're gay, you're out of your mind." Bart's whole body tensed, and his frightened eyes flashed to her face.

"What- how long have you known? Do the rest of them know?"

"Bart, calm down," she hushed him, sitting next to him on the bed, and smoothing his hair back lovingly. "I've known for years." She smiled. "I think I knew before you did," she admitted. "I'm the only one, although I think Mom has her suspicions."

"Lisa, please don't tell them!" He begged her.

"Of course I won't, what kind of person do you think I am? But it really isn't a big deal, Bart. No one will care."

"Homer would kill me," he disagreed quietly. "And it would break mom's heart." Lisa shook her head.

" _No,_ Bart. You being away is what's breaking her heart. And Dad wouldn't care as much as you seem to think he would. It might take him a while to get used to, but you know the only thing he has against most gay guys is that they're in better shape than he is." She smiled warmly at him, but the corners of his mouth barely twitched in return. He sighed, closing his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Lees," he said huskily. "I know you don't understand, but I just can't go back." He turned his head away from her, and pulled the covers more tightly around his body. His body language made it clear that they'd exhausted the topic.

"I know you think that… but you should remember that you can, any time. you'll always have a home, Bart, don't ever forget it." She stood, scribbling something on a piece of notebook paper (college ruled, of course). "I should get going, and let you get some rest, but here's my number. They have it at the front desk, too, but if you need something, call me. Please, don't hesitate. I'll be back tomorrow, whether you want me here, or not." Bart managed a sad semblance of a smile. They embraced- even the gentle contact with his sister causing Bart to tense involuntarily- and Lisa left.

Bob watched as Bart cried silently for a few moments, before drying his eyes, staring sadly at the ceiling. He jumped when his phone began vibrating, signaling an incoming call. Automatically, Bart reached to answer, but then he glanced at the phone number he still clung to. After a moment of deliberation, picked up the phone, sent it to voicemail, and purposely set it on the table next to the bed. He watched it anxiously, biting at his cuticles, as it went off three times in a row, before whoever it was gave up. When it stopped, Bart picked it up and dialed his sister's number. Bob vaguely heard her voice answer.

"Hey, Lees. No, everything is fine. Listen… I just wanted to say… Thanks."

* * *

Sometime in the night, Bob was roused by a quiet whimpering from the next bed. Thinking Bart was in pain, he reached for the call button- then the pleading started, and he realized that Bart was still fast asleep, caught in the throes of a nightmare.

"No, I do love you! I would never cheat on you, please believe me," he wept, his arms raised to shield against invisible blows. "I'm sorry, please, don't!" The pain in Bob's chest caused by the boy's fear surprised him- it was sharp and sudden, and much harder to ignore than he would have imagined. After a few minutes, the desperate pleas stopped, and Bart just lay there, crying and trembling in his sleep. His thrashing had caused the blankets to slip off his bed, and they lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. The chilly draft that crept in through the windows raised goosebumps on Bob's skin, and he knew that Bart must be freezing. Very slowly, taking great pains _not_ to re-injure his (hopefully) healing skin, Bob rose from his bed. He made sure not to detach any of his monitors, as their alarm tones would surely awaken Bart. He made his way to where Bart lay, shivering, and picked up the discarded blankets. As he covered Bart, he studied his sleeping countenance.

What he wouldn't have given, even a month ago, to have him in this exact position- prone and helpless, ripe for slaughter. How easy it would be, to destroy him now, with just a pillow over his face, and a small application of pressure… Bart was so emaciated and weak, Bob suspected the struggle would be minimal. Instead, he was tucking the blankets around him tenderly, mothering him instead of murdering him. As he was smoothing the covers, his hand brushed Bart's arm- and rather than flinch at the contact, Bart seemed to lean into it.

"Bob..." He murmured quietly. Bob froze, his heart in his throat. How had Bart figured him out? His face was still obscured, and he'd been sure to keep his feet curled to a normal human size whenever Bart had been conscious. His eyes flashed to Bart's face, only to find him still asleep. The look on his face was peaceful and happy- in sharp contrast with what he should have been feeling, were he indeed dreaming of Bob. He chided himself silently for his arrogance- Bart could be dreaming of anyone. He was not, after all, the only "Bob" in the world, and Bart was no doubt thinking of someone (anyone, really) other than himself. Still, whether it truly was "Sideshow Bob" on Bart's mind, or someone unknown, the sound of his name in that voice shook him. It seemed so… foreign, to hear it pass his lips without a trace of the terror that usually accompanied the utterance. Strange, and oddly pleasant. It had been a long time since _anyone_ had spoken his name so tenderly…

As Bart's tremors lessened, finally stopping altogether, Bob stole silently back to his bed. He checked one final time before sleep overtook him, and the peace he felt from the hint of a smile gracing Bart's features was immense and gratifying.

Still, that night, he dreamt the decade-old dream of murdering Bart. Old habits were indeed hard to shake, and the fact that Bart was literally sleeping beside Bob almost guaranteed him a spot in Bob's nocturnal thoughts. As always, it began just as he stood above Bart (in his dream, jeering and smug) to deliver the killing strike. And as always, his arm slashed down, his aim true, taking Lenny's advice to "just slit his throat." This time, however, just before the blade connected with the boy's jugular, he felt a sudden pull, some force fighting to stay his arm. It was too late to stop it, though, and, as always, the boy's lifeblood spilled over his hands, painting them bright red. Panic rising in his chest, he frantically held them to the gaping wound, trying to stem the crimson flow. What had he done? The look in Bart's eyes as the life faded from them was betrayed and accusing, and as Bob cradled the lifeless corpse, he was filled with a deep despair. Instead of feeling victorious, having finally triumphed over his sworn enemy, he felt sickeningly empty- a numbness that spread into every fiber of his being and rendered him paralyzed. He jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat, and spent the rest of the night drifting in and out of an uneasy sleep, haunted by the image of Bart's unseeing eyes.

When the sun streamed through the windows the next morning, he breathed a sigh of relief as Bart stirred.

He looked briefly confused upon opening his eyes, and then recognition set in. He looked around, beginning to panic, and then snatched the phone from where he'd left it the previous evening. He let out a small cry of distress, discovering that that battery had run out sometime in the night, scrambling for the bag of his bloodstained clothing. Another small sound escaped him, this time a pained one as he doubled over, panting from the sudden exertion. Bob wanted to snap at him to be careful and get back in bed, that any sharp movements could result in massive internal hemorrhaging, but contained the urge as Bart leaned heavily on the bed, his chest heaving and his eyes squeezed shut. His face was ashen as he climbed back into bed, dragging his belongings with him. He languidly rummaged through the pockets of his shorts, producing a charger which he promptly plugged in to both the phone and the outlet. His face paled even more when the phone finally powered on, and he quickly sent a text message. The reply tone was almost instant- if he hadn't been so disgusted, Bob would have been impressed by the texter's speed. Bart's shoulders slumped as he read the message. He stared at the phone for a second, then took a deep breath and dialed a number. It couldn't have even fully rang once, and Bob could hear a man's voice, angry and demanding, projecting through the mouthpiece. The tone was oddly familiar to him- he ran through a mental list of Springfield's "upstanding citizens," but none of them seemed quite right.

"No- I'm still here… Sorry about last night, they gave me something to sleep, so I didn't hear the phone." he cringed as the lie passed his lips, as if the recipient would somehow know. "They won't let me out until Friday." Bart's hands began to tremble as the voice rose in agitation. "No, I swear- do you want to talk to the doctor? Sorry, ok, I will." He held the phone up, and Bob heard the artificial shutter sound of the camera application. "Did you get it? Is it okay?" The man seemed appeased. "Ok, I'll text you if I hear anything. I love you, too." He closed his eyes as he hung up the phone, holding it to his chest. The words churned Bob's stomach. How _dare_ the monster use that word when Bart had suffered so profusely at his hands? At least he had never meddled with the emotions of his prey… And that Bart could still love him, after all he'd put him through… the notion was inconceivable to Bob, although he knew the situation was all too common.

Day after day, Bart would call his boyfriend (although the constant checking in reminded Bob more of a parolee checking in with his PO), and each day Bart would send a photo of himself, proving that he was indeed still hospitalized. Every time Bart voiced his love, Bob's ire rose. Even the news that he was himself healing well, and that the bandages could be removed at the end of the week was not enough to improve his foul mood- part of him couldn't wait to be free from the linen bindings, but by the time the bandages came off, Bart would once again be back in the clutches of his abuser.

On the last day, Lisa visited earlier than usual, interrupting the daily phone call.

"Hey, I'm sorry, i have to go." He furrowed his brow. "The-the doctor's here, he needs to do something," He lied, his cheeks flushing as Lisa's expression turned disapproving. "I know, I will- as soon as they're done, I promise… Ok. I love you too." Lisa reacted outwardly the same as Bob did internally at each utterance of the phrase.

"Bart," she sighed, her anger evident. "How can you love him, after this? Please, come home with me. I have to at least try; this isn't healthy. I know you feel like you can't leave, but you _can!_ You don't have to take that kind of thing from him! He _doesn't_ love you!"

"Lisa, you have no idea how I feel," Bart snapped back, "and you sure as hell don't know how he feels! You don't even know him." She threw her arms up.

"You're right! I don't know him! I want nothing more than to be part of your life! Come home with me," she repeated.

"Stop acting like you know what's best for everyone, and stop trying to control me!" Her eyebrows shot up.

" _ **I'm**_ trying to control you? Are you kidding me? How about the bastard who's got you so brainwashed that you think love means getting beaten up every day, and won't let you go a day without checking in? He won't even let you talk to your own family!" Her cheeks were rosy, and her hands shook as she tried to calm herself down. Bart glared at her.

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe the reason I don't talk to you has nothing to do with him? Maybe if you weren't such a nosy, bossy busybody, I'd come around more!" Lisa's shoulders slumped.

"Bart," She sighed, deflated. "I know you don't mean that. I'm sorry I snapped at you. It just kills me to see you like this, and I'm terrified that I'll lose you forever. Please… You don't deserve all the terrible things he does to you." Bart shook his head.

"You don't get it… I _do_ ," he insisted. "I've caused him so much pain and put him through so much… I ruined his life, and he _still_ puts up with me. No one else ever would, not after all this."

"That's not true, Bart. Whatever you've done in the past, whatever you think you did to him… it can't be bad enough to warrant _this._ Just _look_ at yourself. He's got you believing that you're nothing… You're too important to me to let you go. Please, just come home for a few days? You can stay at my place, Mom and Dad would never have to know." Bart looked as if he were about to argue, but then paused.

"Fine… Just for one night, though." Lisa's face lit up, and she hugged him.

"Oh- sorry," she quickly backed up as Bart cringed. "Thank you, Bart. Thank you so much." Bart looked overwhelmingly guilty, but Lisa didn't seem to notice in her excitement. "I get out of class at three, is it okay if I pick you up then?" Bart just nodded. She kissed him on the cheek. "I guess I better go tidy up… I'll see you tomorrow, Okay? Sleep well… I love you, Bart."

"I love you too, Lees," he said sadly. As he watched her go, his sadness deepened, and Bob had an uneasy feeling that her preparations would be for naught.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! Things are starting to pick up a little bit. Who could it be on the phone? Such a mystery...

So there have been several occasions where I write something into a fanfic, and then I watch an episode of the Simpsons I've never seen before (I'm working on watching them all, but it's a pretty big undertaking), and something either very similar or the same as my fic will show up in the episode. It's really quite an odd feeling. Anyway, after I'd written the beginning of this fic, I watched the episode "Pokey Mom," (S12E10). At one point, Marge walks through the prison infirmary, and you see a certain, palm-tree-haired _someone_ covered in bandages from the neck up.

Anyway, I hope you're liking this. Let me know what you think! Reviews are greatly appreciated.

Thank you!

~A


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

* * *

Before the nurses had even finished their morning rounds, Bart was out of his bed, limping to the door.

"Bart, where do you think you're going?" Amy said reproachfully, as she entered the room. He looked like a deer caught in headlights.

"You said I could leave today- I know you kept me longer than you really needed to, and if there's no reason for me to be here, you can't make me stay," he pointed out. She seemed at a loss for words; both she and Bob knew that Bart was correct. "Well- what about your ride? Weren't you going to wait for Lisa?" She sounded hopeful, but the look on Bart's face left little doubt that he'd never actually intended to go with his sister.

"I have a ride." He walked past her. "Don't worry about me." She stood, unmoving, watching as he walked to the front desk to check himself out. Her hands balled into fists, and then unfurled as she let out a long breath. When she turned to face Bob, she couldn't hide the fact that she was upset. Still, she smiled, trying her hardest to stay professional.

"Good morning." The words sounded empty. "I'll bet you're pretty excited to get those off, but just give me a few more minutes, and I'll be with you." She left briefly, returning with Doctor Davis- he, too, looked discouraged, but was more adept at hiding his worry.

"Hello, there. I'm going to remove these and just double check that everything is in order. Now, please hold as still as you can, just in case any part of it is sticking to your skin- we don't want to cause any damage." Bob barely breathed as the doctor deliberately unwrapped his face. "Amy, would you please get the blinds?" He turned to Bob, studying him closely. "It all looks good, but we're going to have to be careful not to expose the skin to any sunlight for a while. It's still extremely sensitive, and is going to be very susceptible to UV damage for some time. I'd like to keep you here a little longer, to make sure your legs and hands continue to improve, but you're definitely on the mend. Now, you'll be able to talk, as long as you don't overdo it, so try not to be _too_ animated." He smiled, but his smile froze on his face at the sound of an engine outside the hospital. Bob couldn't suppress a slight twitch of anger, which the doctor misread as impatience. "Of course, I'm sorry, just a little distracted. Now, why don't you tell us your name, and any insurance information you might have?" Bob cleared his throat.

"My name is Robert Underdunk Terwilliger…"

"Robert Terwilliger?" Doctor Davis seemed to recognize the name, and Bob hoped his infamy hadn't preceded him. "Any relation to the Doctor Robert Terwilliger at the university?"

"Ah, yes," Bob sighed, relieved. "My father. In fact… He's most likely the best person to contact in regards to my medical files and expenses, although we've not been in contact in some time- my situation has been a bit… precarious, as of late." Although he was loathe to rely on his parents, he didn't have much of a choice- the entirety of his wealth was currently stashed away in a safety deposit box, rented under a false name, making it virtually inaccessible from the hospital bed. Even if he were able to get to it, the cost of lengthy stay and extensive treatment was sure to be astronomical.

"If money is an issue, we do have a financial aid system, and can set you up with whatever payment plan you're able to afford," the doctor offered kindly, and Bob allowed him one of his rare smiles.

"Thank you, and thank you for all that you and your staff have done in the interest of my health."

"Of course! Is there anything we can get you, or do for you?" Bob shook his head, his hair finally springing back into its distinctive palm tree shape after being confined for so long.

"Nothing outside what you've already done; I assure you, I'm quite comfortable, if a bit restless," he admitted. The doctor smiled at him.

"I can imagine, but hopefully you'll be able to get out of here shortly, if you continue healing at this rate. Sooner, if there's someone who would be able to help you after you get out?" Bob hesitated.

"Perhaps… I'll attempt to establish contact with my family." He didn't have high hopes for Cecil, but perhaps his parents would be able to assist him, at least for a short while.

"Well feel free to use the phone by your bed- just dial 9 to get an outside line- and if you need a phone book, just let someone know." When he was once more alone, he picked up the receiver, his fingers hovering above the digits. He wasn't sure how they would respond; it had been nearly a year since their last interaction. Finally, with no other options available, he dialed the number, only to reach the Terwilliger residence's answering machine. He didn't bother leaving a message, instead trying their cell phones. His father's went straight to voicemail, but his mother answered after the third ring.

"Judith Underdunk speaking."

"Hello, mother," he greeted her cordially.

"Robert! We wondered when we might hear from you. We thought you might have called sooner, being free and all, but we understand if you've found yourself too busy for your parents." Her tone was pleasant, despite her sarcastic words.

"Actually, mother, I've spent the entirety of my freedom in a hospital ward," he retorted, equally sanguine as he recounted the events following his release.

"Well, I've been touring across Europe, so your father has been seizing the opportunity to attend as many seminars and lectures as possible. I'll have him fax your paperwork as soon as I see him again." Bob knew it could be a matter of days- his father took the art of learning very seriously, and tended to get a bit caught up.

"What of Cecil?" Bob asked. "Where is he?" He was still bitter that Cecil had just left him- he could have at least called if he wasn't going to pick him up, rather than leaving him to the elements.

"Cecil has been nearly as distant as you," she said coldly. "I'd almost forgotten I'd borne children at all, let alone two."

"You could have just as easily contacted me," Bob snapped, losing his patience with her passive-aggressive jabs. "I have been in prison, you know."

"How could I forget?" She huffed. "You may remember the stretch when we shared a cell." Bob felt a stab of guilt.

"Mother… I _am_ sorry." He heard her scoff.

"So you keep saying."

"I never intended for you to be apprehended, let alone serve time. My plan was… flawed." Even now, it was difficult to admit his own shortcomings, although knew he had plenty.

"Clearly. Alas, the past is past, and there's no sense dwelling on your numerous failings." Her words stung. Although her belittling remarks had been present his whole life, she still cut him to the core, the way no one else could.

"Indeed. Now, if you've finished reminiscing about my failures, I must be going- I am still convalescing."

"Oh, Robert- surely you _must_ realize that we've barely scratched the surface! However, I shan't keep you, if you've more important matters at hand."

"Very well, _mother,_ " he managed through gritted teeth. "Good day." He didn't even wait for a response before slamming the receiver back into the cradle. He doubted she would even mention their conversation to his father, and so he left a brief message on his father's cell phone, praying he would check his voicemail soon.

The day passed slowly; now that freedom was once again in sight, he was more anxious than ever to leave. He "amused" himself by flipping through the channels on the wall-mounted television. 106 channels, and still _nothing_ of substance on any of them. He finally settled on the Mexican broadcast network- if nothing else, it was a chance to brush up on his rusty Spanish skills. He was so engrossed in the mindless (but relatively entertaining) telenovela, that he hadn't realized the time- until he heard Lisa's voice in the lobby.

"What do you mean, he _checked out_?!" She screeched, her words carrying perfectly through the walls. "Why didn't you call me?!" Her voice was getting louder, and she burst into the ward, her eyes landing on Bart's empty bed in disbelief.

"Lisa, I'm sorry!" A flustered Amy trailed into the room behind her. "He asked us not to contact you, and legally there was no way to keep him here. He's an adult, and his injuries had healed sufficiently that he wasn't in danger."

"He is _always_ in danger, every second he's with that asshole!" She hissed, glowering at the exasperated nurse.

"I know, and trust me, I'm sorry, but he was insistent." She warily held out an envelope. "He left this up front for you… I'll leave you to read it, if you'd prefer."

"Yes, please." Lisa snatched the parcel. "Just leave me alone." She tore the envelope with such force that the paper inside fluttered to the ground, and Amy hurried to vacate the room. Bob didn't blame her: angry Lisa was a force to be reckoned with. She grabbed it, her eyes scanning the page with almost inhuman speed, an all too soon spun to affix Bob with one of her most fearsome glares. "I _told_ you to keep him safe," she growled, "How the _hell_ could you just let him leave?" Bob knew her frustration was misguided, and remained silent, allowing her to vent. "You _saw firsthand_ what he did to him, and you let him walk right out of here, right back into _his_ arms! What is _wrong_ with you?!" She collapsed into the chair next to the bed, the paper now balled into her fist. "I should have known he gave in too easily…" She put one hand to her forehead, and her face crumpled. "Oh, Bob. I'm sorry; I know this isn't your fault."

"Lisa…" He had no words to console her.

"Here." She thrust the paper towards him, and Bob realized that Bart had written on the back of the paper she'd given Bart, with her phone number. "You might as well keep this. Call me when you're out of here." Still clearly very upset, she jumped to her feet. "I have to go. I can't stay here." Without another word, she breezed out of the room, leaving Bob a bit shellshocked. He smoothed the paper, reading what Bart had written.

'I'm sorry, Lisa. I know you don't believe me, but it's better this way, for everyone. Please don't call me or come to find me. I love you- Bart.'

Bob wasn't entirely surprised by Bart's words- or Lisa's, given the current, unenviable circumstances, as well as the immense amount of strain she was undoubtedly under. She already juggled school, family, and now this unendurable truth to which she'd pledged secrecy. A lesser person than Lisa would have buckled beneath the weight long ago.

* * *

A/N: Hello, everyone! Thank you all for reading, and thanks so much for those of you who have reviewed or messaged me- it really means a lot to get feedback. That being said, please let me know what you think about how this is going, or if you have any ideas.

This fic is pretty much my first attempt at writing Bob, so I know he's not perfect, but I do really enjoy writing him, even if I don't nail it every time.

Also, I think I mentioned before that I am not a professional in the fields of healthcare or law enforcement, so I apologize if things are not accurate. I did my best to make it as accurate as possible, while still making it work for the plot.

thanks for reading, and I'll have another update for you next Sunday!

~A


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

* * *

The next day, Bob was half-paying attention to the Bumblebee man's antics when Amy poked her head into the room.

"Mr. Terwilliger? You have a visitor! You remember Lisa, who helped patch you up that one day?"

"But of course," he purred. "How could anyone forget Lisa?" Lisa shot him a withering look as she walked into the room, but Bob thought he saw the corners of her mouth twitch ever so slightly in reluctant amusement.

"She just wanted to stop in and see how you were doing, if that's alright with you."

"What a lovely surprise! Of course, she's welcome to visit any time she likes," he said sincerely. "Thank you, Amy. I shall alert you, should there be anything we require, but Lisa seems equipped to handle any complications that may arise."

"Oh, stop," Lisa denounced his compliments with a playful wave of her hand, and Amy left the two of them together.

"Truly, Lisa. I am pleased to see you. I didn't expect to see you back in this monotonous infirmary. I trust there's nothing new amiss?" She shook her head.

"No, nothing like that," She assured him quickly as she took the seat adjacent to his bed. "Listen. I'm sorry about the way I treated you yesterday; I shouldn't have lashed out at you like that.. I hope you understand that it's not your fault, and I don't blame you." She told him, her expression abashed.

"There is nothing to forgive. Your outburst was completely justified."

"Still, it was inexcusable for me to take my own problems out on you. I know you couldn't have stopped him, and if you had tried…" She shook her head, trying not to smirk. "well, no offense, but you don't exactly have the best track record going up against Bart. At the very least, he would have figured out that you're you."

"Astute, as ever. Your frankness wounds me," he joked, evoking a smile.

"Just…" the smile died on her face. "You read the letter. I can't get involved, not without running the risk of pushing him farther away, but I can't afford not to. He's killing Bart, and it's killing me." It was almost poetic, and were this an opera or play, Bob would have hung on every word. Unfortunately, though, this was not a fiction, and the reality was sobering. He searched for any condolences that could ease her mind, but knew nothing he could say would be enough. She smiled sadly at his silence. "I don't expect you to have a solution… I just need to talk to someone. Although," her smile returned, wider and with a hint of real amusement. "I kind of liked it when you couldn't talk back. Such a deviation from your normal wordy self." He acted insulted.

"Come now, Lisa. It's a blessing many never have the privilege of experiencing, to witness my unending eloquence and charm." She giggled, and Bob was glad to have raised her spirits, even if only minutely.

"Very true, how could I forget my good fortune?" She reached into her backpack. "Well, to make up for being such a total piece of work last night, I brought you a few things to help keep you busy, now that you can move a little more." She produced a couple of thick books, a personal CD player, and a stack of CDs. "For old times sake, a complete anthology of Walt Whitman, a collection of some of Shakespeare's more popular writings, and- I think you'll be pleased with this." She held the CDs so that he could see the titles, and HMS Pinafore was the first to catch his eye. "The complete works of Gilbert and Sullivan, along with ear buds. I figured regular headphones wouldn't fit over… this." She waved vaguely toward his untamable hair, and he laughed, knowing she was correct. He was awed by the kindness of the gesture.

"Lisa… thank you. You truly didn't need to do this, although I do appreciate it. This hospital existence is rather mind-numbing."

"I know I don't, but I know you must be bored." She looked pointedly toward the television, where the Bumblebee man was being chased in circles by an attractive woman in a nurse's outfit, wielding an oversized syringe. "Clearly bored enough to stoop to the level of commoners, judging by your current entertainment. Besides, how long has it been since you listened to any Gilbert and Sullivan?" He tried to remember the last time he'd heard the divine sounds of the 'Savoy Operas.' "I'm sure it's been way too long, and that's partially my fault, considering the fact that I helped put you in prison."

"My own actions were to blame, Lisa, not you or Bart. Thank you again, though- this should be more than sufficient to keep my mind occupied. What about you, though? How are you faring?" He asked, with genuine concern. Her expression was distant as she gathered her thoughts.

"I mean… I'm worried, of course, and just sick at the thought of what could be happening to Bart right now, but there's not much I can do. I asked the hospital staff to contact me if he's admitted again, but they said that if he specifically asks them not to, they can't legally call me. Is there any way…?" She looked to Bob, imploring, and he nodded.

"If I hear even a whisper regarding your brother, I shall alert you immediately," he vowed, and she sighed in relief.

"Thank you, Bob." She glanced at her phone. "I should be going, but it makes me feel a lot better, knowing that you'll be here, and that you'll tell me if anything comes up. Take care of yourself."

"You as well, Lisa, and please don't hesitate to contact me if you should find the need to speak with a genius." She stuck her tongue out at him.

"I'll just talk to myself, if that's the case," She joked back, and they both laughed. "I'll see you around, although hopefully not until you've recovered. Let me know if you need anything." As soon as she left, he opened the jewel case containing The HMS Pinafore- she had even removed the impossible-to-open cellophane, and provided him with an extra set of batteries, and he wondered at her generosity.

As the opening notes hit his ears, he felt a sense of nostalgia wash over him. He tried resisting the urge to sing along, at least at first, but soon he was unable to stop himself from joining in- until, however, he reached the call and response part in 'My Gallant Crew, Good Morning.' Suddenly, the words felt empty, and he realized that the last time he'd performed this song had been with Bart's voice as an accompaniment. Although the whole thing had been a ruse to buy more time, Bart had actually been one of his better audiences. He wasn't sure if he'd ever see that plucky, adventuary side of Bart again. He switched to The Pirates of Penzance halfway through- it was silly enough to distract him from the unexpected sadness that had welled up inside him.

The next time Amy checked in on him, she smiled at the stack of gifts on the bedside table.

"Well that was nice of her to bring these," she commented.

"Yes, just some light reading to help pass the time." She scanned the titles uncertainly: Bob had always found that his idea of "light reading" differed greatly from others'. "Lisa's family and I go back a ways; needless to say, she was rather shocked to discover my identity after previously dressing my wounds."

"Oh! I'm sorry, I hope it wasn't too uncomfortable for you, having her treat you!"

"Not in the slightest; it was a welcome surprise to see her again. I do have one request, however, if I might be so bold?"

"What can I do for you?"

"I understand that it's unorthodox, but there was once some… unpleasantness between Bart and myself. I wonder, if he is to be admitted again, would it be possible to once more cover my face?" Amy looked as if she would argue. "Our disagreement is a thing of the past, but I witnessed his current state of mind, and I would hate for my presence to cause him any unnecessary duress." He flashed her his most innocent, charming smile, and she blushed. He'd often found women to be susceptible to his charms- and he'd learned to use that to his advantage, when required.

"Well, I- I suppose if it's for Bart's sake, it could be arranged," she conceded breathlessly, and Bob rewarded her with another dazzling smile.

"Thank you, ever so kindly. It puts my mind at ease."

"No problem. Um, we received your paperwork via fax this morning, and it looks as if your insurance is all-inclusive, so as soon as you're healed enough, you'll be all set to go." She looked a bit disappointed at the prospect of him leaving so soon.

"That's most excellent news, thank you." He was a bit surprised that he'd not heard back from his father- and that the information had arrived so quickly. Where his mother was highly organized and demanded that everything be just so, his father was more of the disorganized genius type- Bob remembered searching his desk for a permission slip back in grade school, and it had been reminiscent of an archaeological dig (he'd missed that field trip). The contrast in personalities would have no doubt caused much more turmoil in the Terwilliger household, had his mother been home more.

He kept himself occupied over the next week, making good use of the gifts. He was deeply touched by the depth and thought behind them; although she'd been only eight years old at the time, Lisa had still remembered all of his favorites. Still, he avoided the Pinafore. To listen to it now… it seemed almost a betrayal to Bart, knowing that the spirited scamp who had once joined him in song was gone. If Bob could, for once in his life, succeed in his current mission, then just maybe he'd see that hellion once more. Then- and only then- would he be able to listen to the HMS Pinafore.

* * *

A/N: Hello again! Sorry this update comes so late at night; it's been a busy week. Thank you for reading, and many thanks to those of you who have favorited and followed.

After watching 'Cape Feare,' I was inspired to write, so I turned on the 'HMS Pinafore' in the background to help me. I ended up loving it, and got no writing done because I was so busy watching it, and now I have most of the songs memorized. I never knew I liked opera, so thanks, Simpsons. 'The Pirates of Penzance' is my other favorite, hence the shoutout in this chapter.

The Walt Whitman book is a reference to the episode 'The Man Who Grew Too Much.' I know a lot of people aren't wild about that episode, but I think that Bob and Lisa's friendship was really beautiful, and that by highlighting their similarities, proved that under different circumstances, they could be good friends (but that's a whole different story that I won't get into right now).

Thank you all! I hope you're still enjoying, and I'll update again next week!

~A


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

* * *

By the end of the week, Bob was able to move without any pain, and he'd even been allowed out of bed, so that the doctor could observe his progress. After one final examination, Doctor Davis declared Bob fit for discharge. As Bob thanked him for all of his hard work, the doctor merely shrugged.

"I'm just happy I could help, and that you made such an outstanding recovery."

"Well, I owe you a great debt. I wanted to thank you, also, for everything you've done for Bart… I mentioned to Amy that I know the family. While the situation wasn't always… amicable, I'm quite saddened by the way events have played out. So… thank you, for your persistence and kindness."

"I'll admit, when Amy told me what you said, I did some digging…" He didn't need to explain: they both knew what results his research had yielded. "But Lisa seemed at ease in your presence, and I trust Lisa's judgement." He shook his head sadly. "I don't know if I'm making any difference, but all I can do is keep trying." Bob shook his hand solemnly, and walked once again into freedom.

He took a bus to the storage facility where his belongings were presently entombed. He heaved a sigh of relief as the door of his unit opened to reveal his (rather disorganized) personal effects, evidently untouched. Everything was just as he'd left it- if considerably dustier- the last time he'd called this place home.

His relief dissipated almost instantly as he spotted a notice on one of the doors, declaring new policies regarding tenants. Due to a meth lab incident, living in the storage units was now strictly prohibited- and noncompliance would result in harsh legal penalties. The last thing Bob needed was another run-in with law enforcement, but he'd banked heavily on residing here. He would have to improvise- a motel room seemed to be his only course of action, at least for a few days, but the area had changed quite a bit in ten years. He grabbed his "go bag-" in his line of "work," he'd learned that it was a good idea to have a few changes of clothes and some necessities packed at all times, in case he had to make a quick getaway. He threw in a few more items that might come in handy- including a large chunk of his savings, and a bottle of his finest wine- secured the door, and began walking. He was grateful for the cloud cover, but still took care to cover as much of his skin as possible (he knew, from past experience, how deceptive a cloudy day could be, in terms of uv exposure).

He eventually encountered a pay phone (possibly the last one in Springfield), and dialed the number Lisa had left him.

"Hello, Lisa," He greeted when she answered. "I've been released from the hospital, and I may have encountered a bit of an obstacle…" He explained his predicament, and couldn't understand why she was laughing.

"Don't worry, Bob. I thought something like this might happen, so I took the liberty of looking into apartments in the area that will rent to ex-convicts. I've got a few for you to look at that have immediate availability."

"I- once again, Lisa Simpson, I find myself entirely indebted to you." She picked him up shortly after they hung up, and when he got in the car, she plopped a binder in his lap.

"I wasn't sure of your price range, so they're in order from least to most expensive." He flipped through the pages (displayed professionally in page protectors, with relevant information highlighted).

"How could you foresee such an occurrence?" She giggled again.

"You're a genius, there's no doubt about that." He knew there was a reason he'd always been fond of her… "Your plans are so complex and well thought-out, but they seem to lack room for error… if one part of your plan doesn't go as expected, the rest of it is ruined. No offense, of course, I just wanted to make sure you had your bases covered. It would be sad for you to get out of the hospital, only to become homeless."

"None taken. I'm astounded by your philanthropy and thoughtfulness."

"I'd let you stay with me, but I don't think it would go over too well with my sorority sisters." Bob's eyebrows disappeared into his hair.

"A sorority?" He'd never have pictured Lisa as that type.

"I know what it sounds like, but as the president, I've been working hard to reinvent the image of the modern sorority. I feel like it's a wonderful opportunity for young women to gain independence, while still being part of a community of like-minded peers. I've been trying to show them that they can still have a college experience without falling into the category of 'air-headed sorority girls.' We focus on addressing everyday struggles of women in day-to-day life, especially regarding the perception of working women. I don't want people to automatically assume that every girl who lives in a sorority is a bimbo who just wants to party. Stereotypes are one of the downfalls of modern society, and I believe that a lot of good can come from forcing people to rethink their preconceived notions." Bob shook his head.

"You never fail to amaze me, Lisa, and I believe that if anyone can succeed in their endeavors, it's you." She blushed.

"Thank you. It's been difficult to get people to take us seriously, which is even more reason to persevere. I know I can do it, and I want to set an example. If they can see that I can achieve my goals, hopefully they'll be inspired as well." He had little doubt that she would someday be president, or perhaps someone even more influential. He thumbed through the printouts, until he found a couple that both fit his price range and were in halfway decent parts of town. One, to his delight, was within walking distance to both a bookstore _and_ a library- information which Lisa had highlighted. He used Lisa's cell phone to call the head office, and the manager invited them to come take a look at the property.

When they walked into the office, Lisa gasped.

"John!" The middle aged man looked up in surprise.

"Lisa? Oh my goodness! You're all grown up!" The two embraced. They spent a few minutes catching up, while Bob stood by awkwardly. He looked around the office. It was immaculate, and Bob was impressed by the aesthetically pleasant interior design. A photo of John and another man was prominently displayed on his desk, along with a few photos of cats. Lisa turned to him.

"Bob, John was friends with my parents when he lived by us years ago. This is Bob; he was released from prison about a month ago, but he was a model inmate, and I can vouch for him in terms of character." John shook his hand, but Bob didn't miss the skeptical once-over he gave him.

"I have one property available for immediate move-in; I can give you a tour, if you'll follow me." He showed them out of the the office, and directed them to the building at the end of the row. As they walked, John hung back slightly to speak to Lisa. His voice was barely a whisper, but Bob caught the jist of the conversation.

"Lisa, I'm all for following your heart and true love and everything, and he's handsome, I'll give you that, but… well, you can do better, honey."

"Oh!" Bob could practically hear her blush. "No! Nothing like that! It's strictly platonic; I'm just helping a friend!" Although he was mildly offended by John's assessment, his ego was soothed by the compliment- and he felt a small swell of pride that Lisa had referred to him as a friend. His former cellmate, Snake Jailbird, had been the closest thing to a friend he'd had in a long while, and he'd not heard from him in years- no doubt he was again on the run, or (most likely) being held in another prison. John showed them to the third floor of the building, and upon entering, Bob knew that the rest of the tour was redundant. Still, he allowed John to show him the rest of the apartment. It looked out over a small courtyard, rather than the parking lot, and was minimally furnished, including a sofa, a landline phone, all kitchen appliances, and a bed frame. Although it was small, it had ample room for necessities, and was more than large enough to accommodate the minimalistic lifestyle to which he'd become accustomed over the last decade. When the tour was complete, they went back to the office, where John readied the paperwork.

"Well we do have a required background check, for insurance purposes, but as long as you're upfront about your convictions, there shouldn't be a problem, especially since you've got a recommendation from someone with no criminal history." After filling out all required fields, Bob still held on to the sheet uncertainly. He had to say, it did look bad, with all of his offences displayed in one (rather lengthy) list. "Don't worry," John assured him. "We pride ourselves here on non-discrimination, and about allowing people a second chance. So, unless you give me a reason, there's no judgement passed." They again shook hands- this time with a much friendlier look on John's face- and Bob signed the lease, rendering him no longer homeless.

"Thanks again, John- I'll stay in touch!" Lisa hugged Bob's new landlord goodbye, and the two of them left the office.

"Well, Lisa, thank you- maybe some day, I'll be able to repay the insurmountable debt to you in which I find myself."

"Where do you think you're going?" She grabbed his arm, tugging him toward her car as he started heading toward his new residence. "We're going shopping!" Lisa was deaf to his protests as she steered him to the car.

"Lisa, you've done more than enough already; I can't continue to take advantage of your charity."

"Shut up, Bob. You're not just going to sleep on the couch, and you have to have _something_ other than wine in your fridge. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you starved to death on my watch." Clearly, she was not to be dissuaded.

He allowed himself to be led around the store, and as Lisa filled their cart, he didn't have the heart to tell her that he would have been content with a couple of blankets and a few frozen meals. She seemed to be enjoying herself, and who was he to spoil her fun? It was the least he could do, after everything she'd done for him. Finally, an air mattress and at least two weeks worth of food later, she seemed appeased. He insisted on paying the weighty total, although she did her best to chip in.

"Alright, now is there anything from the storage unit you need, before we head back?" Bob thought for a moment.

"I suppose there are one or two items I could stand to retrieve." She stopped by; he loaded her gifts from the hospital into the car, and they returned to his apartment. Again, Lisa jumped into action, flitting around the quarters in a flurry of activity. Bob saw a sparkle of Marge in her, as she made sure everything was as homey as possible.

"There!" She declared, straightening the finishing touch: a framed cross stitch that read "Home Sweet Home." She admired her handiwork, her hands on her hips. "Now I'll be able to sleep at night, knowing you're all taken care of." He bit back a comment about not needing her to take care of him- it occurred to him that it probably benefited her emotional wellbeing to be able to help _someone_ , given her current inability to assist Bart. Bob had to admit, it was much cozier, after she'd finished with it.

"Thank you, Lisa, for your bottomless generosity. I'm eternally in your favor." Lisa shook her head.

"It's nothing, really. What kind of person would I be, if I didn't help someone who truly needed help, if I had the opportunity and means to help them?"

"Average," Bob answered truthfully. "And therein lies the root of society's malady."

"Well, if that's the case, I _never_ want to be average," she said playfully, shuddering despite her smile.

"I don't believe you ever need fear that, my dear."

"Thanks, Bob. Listen, if you need anything at all, let me know."

"You also, Lisa. And actually-" He stopped, and she looked at him expectantly. "Would you be averse to keeping me informed, in regards to your brother?" She smiled, and the sadness was back.

"Of course I'll let you know, if I hear anything at all." They said their farewells, and Bob began fixing his dinner. He'd always loved cooking; the art of taking raw ingredients and combining them into something exquisite appealed to him on many levels. He ate his chicken cacciatore in silence, relishing the lack of both prison and hospital sounds. When he slept that night, the inflatable mattress felt like the most comfortable bed in the world to him: after all, it was _his._

* * *

A/N: Yikes. Sorry for the delay, everyone. I'm a little distracted right now... basically, I'm an airhead when I'm in love, and things are happening in my life.

Anyway, thanks for reading, and I hope you're still enjoying it. I had fun writing this whole part about Bob finally getting out of the hospital and settled into everyday life.

The cross stitch is a little throwback to the episode with Willy where they have to rebuild his hut.

John the landlord is John from the episode "Homer's Phobia." I loved that Episode, and I really liked John, so I wanted to get him in here somewhere, and then I started writing this chapter, and things just kinda fell into place.

Let me know what you think, and I'll do my best to get another update next week. Thanks for hanging in there with me!

~A


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

* * *

When Bob finally stirred from his deep slumber, the sun was already high in the sky. How long had he been asleep? It felt like days… He dragged himself to the kitchen to check the time-12:30?! He'd not slept that long or hard in ages… certainly not since he'd been in prison, and even before that, his sleep had been fitful, plagued by the jeering faces of Krusty and Bart. Today, however, he awoke refreshed, with the promise of endless possibilities! His fate was finally in his own hands, and he could… what? What could he do, now that he had nothing guiding him? He'd promised Lisa to help get her brother back, but where would he even start? Lisa knew where Bart was staying, and his first instinct was a stakeout- but then, wasn't it following his own instincts that had gotten him arrested repeatedly? He really didn't need to add a stalking charge to the list of convictions, especially so soon after being released. Besides, what if Bart saw him? His hair was rather difficult to conceal, despite his best efforts at camouflage, and the last thing he wanted was to traumatize Bart further. He felt himself beginning to think in circles, falling into that familiar, infinite loop of plotting and second-guessing himself. He shook his head. If he was going to help Bart, he needed a different approach- when Lisa's exams were finished, perhaps they could collaborate. After all, the Simpsons had always been able to find the flaws that he'd overlooked, so maybe together, they could come up with something a little more effective. Until then, he needed to clear his mind, and focus on something other than Bart.

Reluctantly, he thought that he should probably touch base with his family, and at least let them know that he was well- not that they were likely to care much. He used his new landline to dial his parents' home number, and was delighted that his father was the one to answer- he was the only of his brood with whom he really had an interest in speaking.

"Terwilliger residence, this is Robert."

"Hello, Robert. This is also Robert." It was a bit of a running joke between the two of them, to address each other by their shared first name.

"Robert! What a pleasant surprise! How is your dermis holding up?"

"Still rather tender, but on the mend, thank you. I trust you're well?"

"Yes, quite, although a bit bogged down with end-of-term papers. You understand."

"Yes, I shan't keep you, I only wished to inform you of my improving condition, and my new contact information." He told his father how and where he could be reached, should the need arise.

"That's excellent news; I'm pleased to hear that you're doing better. Now-" He paused. "I do hate to intrude- you are an adult after all, and I understand that your business is your own, but as a father, I do have to voice my concerns… have you sought any help in regards to your- ahem, problem?" Bob couldn't hide his confusion.

"You mean with trying to kill people? I assure you, that's behind me. You've nothing to worry about," he told his father, but the man sighed.

"No, Robert. Not that problem. You know denial won't make it go away- if anything, it will only lead to more trouble for you."

"I've not the faintest idea to what you're referring. Please, enlighten me."

"I mean how you ended up in the hospital in the first place… Your drinking problem. It could have cost you your life, you know." Bob was astounded.

"Where in the blazes did you ever get that idea?" He demanded, but he had a sneaking suspicion exactly where he'd gotten it.

"Well…" he sounded uncertain, as if realizing the extent to which he'd been fooled. "Your mother told me-" At the mention of his mother, Bob's temper seemed to take control.

"What exactly did that jezebel tell you? What new deceit has she spun; what untruth did she feed you?!" He demanded, his voice heavy with bitterness.

"Bob, please don't shout at me, I'm merely concerned. She said that you were struggling with substance abuse, and that you'd passed out in the middle of the desert after drinking yourself into a stupor… I gather that this is not the case?"

"Utter rubbish! Pure claptrap! I've had no more than a glass of wine since my release, weeks and weeks ago! Yes, the desert sun was my downfall, but only because Cecil neglected to retrieve me from the middle of that God-forsaken wasteland!" He raged. "What is the point of such blatant lies?"

"Bob, I don't know… you know how she is." The man sounded abashed, but it wasn't enough to stem Bob's pent-up anger.

"I do! And so do you! Yet you remain by her side, even as she makes a complete fool of you, time and again!"

"What would you have me do?" Robert Sr. snapped. "I'm not a young man anymore, Robert. You know this. There's no point in uprooting my whole life, when I've got so little of it left… What would I really have to gain? I'm too old for that."

"And what was your excuse when we were children?" He asked angrily.

"Bob, please, try to understand-"

"Oh, I understand, Father. You stood idly by while she belittled us, just watched her deride Cecil and me! Not once did you make any attempt to defend us!" He couldn't stop the words he'd wanted so long to say to his father. "It was far easier to make excuses for her than to confront her, even as she made your children's lives hell!"

"You don't understand!" He snapped. "I did confront her- numerous times! But that woman-" he said the word as if it were a curse. "You know how convincing she can be- that's why she's such an outstanding actress; lies come more naturally to her than the truth. She said she'd tell everyone that I was the manipulative one, and who would have doubted her tearful performance? She promised that if I ever tried to leave her or expose the way she treated you, she'd have you removed from my custody, and my practice shut down on allegations of malpractice. It was the one thing she ever said to me that I had no doubt in my mind was the complete truth- she would have taken you away from me. I couldn't let that happen, Robert. She did quite a number on you both as it is; I shudder to think how either of you would have turned out If she'd had full reign over your upbringing." He raised a fair point. Bob faltered.

"I-I had no idea-"

"I did what I thought was the best thing for my children. Do you think it didn't kill me to see her pit you two against each other, like gladiators in her own personal coliseum for her amusement?" His tone softened. "I just didn't see any other options at the time… I'm sorry you had to deal with that." Bob was taken aback. It had never occurred to him that his mother had manipulated her husband in the same way as her sons.

"I… may have been too harsh in my judgement of you…"

"No. I convinced myself that there was nothing else I could do, but I should have found some way to be a better father to the two of you. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I would love to see you, and catch up."

"I suppose I can work you into my schedule," he joked, hoping his light tone would let the man know he harbored no resentment- even with his own father, he found apologizing rather difficult. Bob heard a shrill voice on the other end- a voice he recognized all too well.

"Coming, dear!" His father called, lowering his voice to talk to Bob. "She's just returned home. Does tomorrow work to meet? My classes end at five, if you'd like to stop by my office at the University, perhaps we could grab a bite at the campus cafe afterward." They agreed to meet, and then the line went dead. Bob stared at his hands for a long while, digesting the new information.

How could he have been so sorely mistaken? He'd long held his father in contempt- scorned him- but now it seemed that he had been far stronger than Bob had ever given him credit for being. He heaved a heavy sigh and opened the box containing his clothing. He was suddenly very weary, despite the good night of sleep. He tried to push the thoughts of his family out of his head, but they kept resurfacing, unbidden, even as he sorted through the garments, searching for something appropriate for such a reunion, but nothing seemed quite right. Finally, he settled upon a deep blue suit- his mother had always said that blue made his pale skin look even more washed out, made him look even more sickly than he already did, so it seemed somehow fitting. He lay his clothes out, making sure they were wrinkle-free and all set for the next day. When he caught himself folding the socks for the third time, he kicked himself mentally. What was he doing? Why was he so nervous? It wasn't as if he'd intentionally hurt his father, but he knew his accusations must have been painful to hear.

Even this revelation came as a shock to him. Since when had he cared how actions affected others? He'd always just said whatever came to mind, without a second thought to how his blatant statements might impact the recipient. In the last few weeks, though, he'd been more concerned with how his words and actions were construed- he'd practically begged Lisa to hear him out, had been compelled to explain himself to her, but when had he changed? It had been since… Bart. From the first time he'd seen the battered boy drag himself into the hospital, something inside him had been changing, and he wasn't sure if it was for the better. He'd always viewed his relative apathy as a strength; allowing himself to care made him vulnerable, in his opinion, and those who softened the truth to spare others' feelings had always been weak in his eyes.

Was it really weakness, though? Didn't it take a different kind of strength to be kind, especially when it was far easier to be cruel? He was hit with a wave of guilt as he remembered all of the times he'd coldly pointed out exactly what was wrong with people- and there were so many instances. From the time he'd torn apart Selma's favorite show, MacGyver, simply because he found the writing beneath him, to when he'd poked fun at Krusty's illiteracy on live television, solely to embarrass the clown. It was as if the realization had opened floodgates that he'd carefully maintained; he was drowning in remorse. Each time came rushing back, as vivid as the day the accursed words had left him, and with it, the memory of hurt and betrayal on their faces stabbed at him. Was this how the common fold felt all the time, haunted by the ghosts of those they'd hurt? Suddenly, he was angry- and the anger was much easier for him to handle. Damn Bart, for awakening in him this unbidden empathy!

He paced the floor, pulling at his hair in rage as the boy's face again invaded his thoughts. This was his fault, like always! If he hadn't- he stopped. If he hadn't what?

"What am I doing?" He whispered to the empty apartment. Truly, Bart was completely innocent of any wrongdoing. He was the victim, for God's sake, and here was Bob: blaming Bart, as ever, for his own incompetence. It had never been Bart's fault that he was unhappy- he was just woefully incapable of facing the truth.

Now, he was regretting all the years he'd spent repressing and ignoring these emotions- they were catching up with him, seemingly all at once. Perhaps this was why people had warned him against bottling up emotions- like a cork with too much built-up pressure beneath it, all it had taken was one tiny nudge to loosen the seal. Now, there was no stopping it. He knew that his pain was his own fault, and that in itself caused him even more. He feared that the only way to free himself from this crushing guilt- or at least lessen it to a more bearable level- was to face it, and take responsibility. Sure, it had been easier at the time, to brush his insecurities off as being anyone else's fault, but deep down, there had always been the knowledge that he was to blame. It was a seed that had been germinating, buried deep in his subconscious, sinking its roots into every tiny crack of his psyche until it had grown so large that the foundation of his carefully constructed facade had crumbled beneath him.

Well, no more. Regardless of the thorns, he was going to start shouldering his own burdens. No more blaming other people, no more misguided aggressions. This was his boulder to push, and if he continued the way he had been for so long, it would continue to roll back down, crushing him under it every time he thought he was making progress. He couldn't undo his past wrongs- what was done was done, and only fools dwelled on what could have been- but he could shape the future- he could live in a way that left no room for regrets. He had to try- it might take everything he had, stretch him to his limit, but he had to at least attempt to admit when he was wrong, and be just a little kinder to people (even when they were so incredibly stupid it hurt). It was the only way to have a chance at living, unhaunted by the faces of his past. He wasn't sure if he could do it, but all he could do was try.

* * *

A/N: Hey everyone! Thanks for reading. Not a lot happening in this chapter, but I'm incredibly wordy even when there's nothing actually going on, so sorry if that's not your cup of tea.

Now I have nothing against Judith, despite the way I've written her in this story- it just worked out better for her to be terrible, and since we don't see much of either of the Terwilliger parents in the show, I just kinda wrote them how I needed them to be for the story.

Let me know what you think! I would really appreciate some reviews or something, but it's good enough for me that people are at least reading my story. At least some of you must be enjoying it, if you've stuck with it this far.

I hope you enjoyed, and I'll hopefully be back next week!

~A


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

* * *

The first thing he noticed about his father upon seeing him again was how much older he looked from the last time he'd laid eyes upon the man. His skin hung in loose folds, accentuating his sunken eyes, and walked slowly and hunched over. He tried not to let his shock show as they shook hands- the man's grip was so frail, it felt as if his hand would slip right out of Bob's, like sand. They ordered coffee and scones, and took a seat near the window to wait for their order.

"It's lovely to see you again, Robert."

"Likewise. I hope you're not pushing yourself too hard with your work? I know how inclined you are to overexertion."

"Well, the period is nearly finished. Only a few more late nights grading papers before I get a bit of a break." Bob didn't miss how he'd avoided actually answering the question.

"Classic deflection," he scoffed. "You should know better than to try such cheap parlor tricks on me." His father laughed.

"Well, you can't blame an old man for trying."

"You really should be more careful," he warned in all seriousness. "It will be of no benefit to yourself or your students if you collapse from exhaustion."

"You shouldn't worry so much, Bob- you'll end up looking like me." He gestured to his wrinkles, bringing forth a laugh from them both.

"We'll see- maybe if you wouldn't cause me such anxiety, I would remain more youthful."

"I'm the one causing _you_ to worry?" His eyes widened in mock surprise. "What about my son, the reprobate? I have to admit, it's refreshing to see you in a color other than orange." Bob smiled.

"Believe me, I feel the same- that hue is _almost_ as unflattering as red, for one of my complexion." His father laughed heartily. A waitress approached, setting their food on the table. "Oh- I believe we requested two coffees without cream," Bob told her, eyeing the light color of his drink.

"I'm so sorry, sir- I'll get you a new one, right away." She whisked it back to the kitchen, returning moments later with the correct order. "I'm sorry," she apologized again, but he shook his head.

"It's no problem, miss. Thank you." As he blew gently on the steaming beverage, he felt his father studying him. "Yes?"

"It's just- I'm surprised to see you so calm about that. I half expected you to bring her to tears." Bob grimaced, recognizing the truth in his father's words. Indeed, there had been a time when he would have lambasted the poor girl, embarrassed her in front of her coworkers and customers alike for a simple mistake. "I'm impressed. It does a father's heart good to see his son growing up." He wasn't really sure what to say to that- fortunately, he was spared a response by the chime of his father's cell phone. He smiled at the ringtone- a digitized version of "Three Little Maids." He certainly came by his love of fine art honestly. "This is Dr. Terwilliger speaking… Yes, I'm still on campus, just at the cafe." His brow furrowed. "I'll be there immediately; get her somewhere comfortable, and keep track of how far apart they are." He hung up, and stood abruptly. "Well, I suppose we'll have to get this to go. Mrs. Ellison just went into labor prematurely, and they want me there. Apparently, the drawbridge is stuck again, with the ambulance on the other side. They're lucky it's not a _real_ emergency." He shook his head at the infamous 'Springfield incompetence.' Bob smiled at his father's words- of course he didn't view this as a "real emergency-" after working as an ER doctor for years, not much fazed him anymore. "This could take a while, depending on how long the ambulance takes to arrive- who knows; I might have to deliver the baby myself. I could use an assistant, unless you're feeling squeamish."

"Well- I suppose I could accompany you, and try to be of use. I've never delivered a child, but I could try my hand at physician's assistant." To be completely honest, he found the prospect of plucking a living being from the body of another a bit daunting, but he wasn't one to shy from a challenge.

"That's the spirit- now, let's not keep the future Mother Ellison waiting." They stuffed their scones into leftover boxes, and hurried back to the literature building, where they had to fight their way through the crowd of onlookers who had gathered. "Honestly?" Robert Sr. snapped at the gawkers. "Clear out, and give the poor woman some privacy!" Bob surveyed the group. It consisted mostly of students- a few of whom looked vaguely familiar to him- but there were a number of teachers, as well. They dispersed reluctantly, revealing a moaning woman lying on a heap of towels. Robert Sr. shook his head, rubbing his temples. "What is _wrong_ with you people? I said to get her somewhere _comfortable,_ not thrown on the floor amongst the dirty laundry, like a dog dropping a litter! Must I do _everything_ myself?" The few remaining professors looked at each other in confusion. "That's it- everyone, out- except you, Bob, and Mr. Chalmers." Everyone else vacated the area, leaving the lobby deserted save for Bob, his father, an elderly man, and, of course, Mrs. Ellison. "Dean Chalmers, my son Bob. He'll be assisting me."

"Yes, we've met," said the Dean, and Bob gave him a second look. He'd not immediately recognized the former superintendent of Springfield public schools. "In fact, I employed your son for a short time." They were interrupted by a shriek of pain.

"Can you idiots _wait_ to do this?!" The woman screeched through gritted teeth, her body wracked by another intense contraction. "I'm in the middle of having a goddamn baby!" The Doctors Terwilliger rushed to help her to her feet, supporting her as she leaned heavily against them. Her face was contorted in pain, and she had tears streaming down her face, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

"All right, Laura. I know it hurts-"

"You have no _idea!_ " She snapped at Robert Sr.

"I know, I can't begin to imagine the pain you're in, but I've delivered dozens of babies. Don't worry, you're doing great. Now, I know it's difficult, but you need to slow your breathing," he instructed, helping her into a cushioned chair. He turned to the dean. "Get all the towels you can, and lay them on that desk- as flat as possible, and get the cushion from your chair."

"But it's not removable-"

"So cut it off, if you have to! I'll buy you another bloody chair, you blundering dolt!" Bob rarely saw his father lose his temper, but on the rare occasion that he did, it was best not to argue. The dean obeyed without a word, and they eased her onto the desk, propping the cushion under her shoulders. Robert Sr. checked his watch. "Okay, when was the last contraction?" The dean looked embarrassed.

"I… it was a little while ago."

"I told you to keep track of them!" He shook his head. "Well, we'll just have to wait for the next one, to get a picture of how much time we have. Laura, I don't suppose you have any idea when the last one was?" She looked distressed. Bob took her hand, in an attempt to be comforting, but she threw it aside, giving him a dirty look. He tried his best not to take it to heart.

"Maybe… ten minutes ago? I don't remember…"

"That's alright, dear. Don't worry about a thing." He turned to Bob. "It sounds like we're going to have to do this ourselves; there's been no word from the ambulance, so they're probably still stuck. Mr. Chalmers, I need you to get all the first aid kits you can find, and boil as much water as you can carry. I don't care what you put it in, but make sure it's _clean_. I'll also need a large container for the placenta. If you can find any pillows, bring those, too." He pulled Bob aside. "Listen, I'm a bit concerned, she's not due for another week. She should be fine, but I could really use a competent assistant. Are you sure you're feeling up to the job?" Bob hesitated- he _wasn't_ sure, but he didn't want to let down his father- or the mother-to-be.

"I'll do my best, although I can't guarantee that I'll be helpful," he told him honestly.

"That will have to do, I guess… it would be nice if we had a woman here, though; it can be a little intimidating to be surrounded by men while giving birth." Oh, of course! Bob kicked himself mentally for not thinking of it sooner.

"Actually, I might have an idea. May I make use of your phone for a moment?" His father handed it over.

"Don't take too long, I need all hands on deck." Bob dialed the number of the one person in the world who might be able to help them right now, praying that she'd answer the unfamiliar number.

"Hello?" He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Lisa, are you by any wild chance in the vicinity of Springfield University?"

"Bob? Um, I'm in the library, working on a project. What-" Laura let out another blood-curdling scream. "Where are you, and what the _hell_ are you doing?"

"I can scarcely believe this, but I'm preparing to help my father deliver a baby in the Literature building. If you're not too busy…"

"I'll be there in five minutes." She hung up without another word, and Bob rejoined his father. She was there even faster than she'd promised, clearly having sprinted the entire way. Robert Sr. looked at her in surprise as she attempted to catch her breath.

"Hello, Lisa. I'm surprised to see you're in contact with my son, but more than happy to see you. You're possibly the most competent person on this entire campus."

"Thank you, professor Terwilliger. I didn't have much on hand, but I brought my first aid kit and emergency blanket from my car." Without waiting for a response from either of the Terwilligers, she went right over to Laura. "Hello, I'm Lisa. I'm training to be a nurse, what's your name?" This was the side of her Bob had seen at the hospital, when she'd treated his wounds- comforting and confident, and exactly what they needed right now.

"L-Laura," whispered the woman.

"You're doing _so_ well, Laura. Is this your first baby?" She nodded, and Lisa smiled encouragingly. "That's beautiful… I know you're probably scared right now, but everything is going to be just fine, and you'll be holding your baby before you know it. Now, do you want to lie down like this, or would you be more comfortable in a different position? You can walk around for a minute, if it helps." Laura shook her head.

"This-this is fine- Ohh!" She gasped again, reaching blindly for Lisa. Lisa held her hand, only wincing slightly as the woman squeezed tightly, her knuckles whitening as she rode out another contraction. Robert Sr. looked at his watch.

"We're down to five minutes apart- that one lasted about thirty seconds. Where is that man? We need to get ready." Right on cue, Chalmers burst through the door, looking extremely flustered as he dumped an armful of first aid kits and a bucket unceremoniously on the floor with a loud clatter, startling the panting woman.

"Did I make it?! Is everything going okay? What if she-"

"Get him out of here," Lisa snapped, glaring at the man. "He's only going to upset her." She turned back to Laura, who was looking from face to face in panic. "Shh, you're okay. He's just freaking out." She rolled her eyes. "Men." Laura attempted a smile, but it turned to a grimace as she sucked air in through her teeth. "Try to breathe as regularly as you can- easier said than done, I realize, but it will help lessen the pain. In through your nose, out through your mouth." Laura shook her head.

"I- I can't do this!" Lisa smoothed her sweaty hair back from her face with the hand that wasn't currently in a death grip.

"Yes, you can; just focus on one thing at a time. Try to match my breathing, okay?" Laura nodded uncertainly. "Okay, let's try a few breaths together. In… and out." As the two breathed in unison, Bob's father slathered his hands and forearms in hand sanitizer, then donned a pair of sterile gloves from one of the first aid kits. Bob copied him, feeling as if he were moving in slow motion. "Alright, love. I'm just going to clean up, so you don't get an infection, but I'll be right here the whole time," Lisa told Laura gently. She quickly readied herself, then spread her blanket over the woman's lower half. "I have to see if you're dilated, and check if the baby's crowning yet, okay?" Robert Sr. was watching Lisa with admiration as he gathered the remaining supplies, setting them within arm's reach of the makeshift birthing station.

"She's doing our job for us, Bob. It almost makes me feel redundant. Excellent idea, calling Lisa." Bob could hear his father speaking, but it was growing quieter and quieter. "Robert? Are you alright? You don't look well…" He had an odd sensation in the back of his mind. His spine prickled uncomfortably, and his arms felt weak and light. Bob looked around him. Funny, he hadn't remembered the floor being that close to his face…

* * *

A/N: Hey, everyone. So sorry about the hiatus- Like I said, I've been a bit distracted lately, but things are going very well in my life. :D

I really appreciate the reviews, and everyone who has been following and reading this story. I've put a lot of time and effort into it, and I've done a lot of research for this fic. Like this chapter, for instance- I have _no_ idea where this came from; I had no intention of having them deliver a baby, but it just kind of happened, so... here it is.

Just in case you can't tell, Bob passes out at the end of this chapter. That's another thing I didn't plan, but when I was doing the research on delivering a baby, I started feeling really weird when I was reading about cutting the umbilical cord- all light-headed and fuzzy, sooo there you have it.

I'll probably post another chapter pretty quickly here, to make up for missing two weeks in a row.

Thank you all for reading, and let me know what you think!

~A


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

* * *

 _Bob was barely aware of the midwife as she excused herself, allowing the new family a moment of privacy- all he could see was the weary, beautiful woman holding court in the rustic hospital's maternity ward. She looked exhausted, her forehead slick and her bronze cheeks still flushed from exertion, but in her eyes shone an exuberance he'd never seen in her before. She seemed to glow with life as she gazed in wonder at the crying bundle cradled in her arms. She was illuminated by a well-timed shaft of golden sunlight streaming in through a window, her raven hair shining around her like a halo, and Bob was reminded of the classical paintings of Madonna and child. She smiled at him, and he realized that he, too, was beaming._

 _"_ _Roberto," she purred, extending one arm towards him. The way she said his name, her tongue lingering on the trilled "r" was musical, and he never tired of hearing it. "Come, meet your son." He barely felt his feet touch the ground as he went to her- no, to them. Though he'd had nine months to get used to the idea, he was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he, of all people, was a father, and as he took his child in his arms, he felt his chest swell with an uncontrollable, indescribable emotion. "Gino," Francesca practically sang. "Say 'hello' to Papa." Though only minutes old, Gino's eyes were wide open, and as he stared at Bob, his crying ceased._

 _"_ _Hello, Gino," Bob whispered, caressing the infant's cheek in awe. Minute fingers wrapped around one of Bob's as the two regarded each other in fascinated silence. He was stricken by how closely Gino resembled him- despite his Italian heritage, Gino's skin was light, and a feathering of soft, auburn curls covered his head like down. A droplet of water landed on the boy's forehead, causing his eyes to widen in confusion, and Bob raised a hand to his own cheek. To his surprise, he found them damp- he'd been so entranced by the tiny miracle before him, he hadn't even noticed the tears. "Look at me; you're supposed to be the one crying," he said softly, unable to stop smiling, and Gino gurgled happily at the sound of his father's voice. He could scarcely believe that he'd contributed to the creation of something so absolutely, breathtakingly perfect. He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing Bob had seen in his entire life._

 _"_ _Bob?" A voice drifted in from the hallway, and Bob frowned. This wasn't right… "Bob." It was louder this time, and reverberated throughout the room, making the sun kissed scene ripple around him. Gino started crying again._

 _"_ _Gino," Bob whispered, and a deep sadness permeated his core as the baby's cries grew louder. He never wanted to leave this moment- never wanted to let go of his son- but the voice was insistent. "Bob!" It boomed, and he was jolted from his reverie._

* * *

He opened his eyes, and was met with the concerned faces of Lisa and his father. Somewhere close by, an infant wailed.

"Bob, are you okay?" His father asked, and Bob sat up quickly- too quickly, apparently. The room spun, and he held his head in his hands. He realized that he was sitting on the floor of the literature building, his face covered with tears.

"I'm fine," he answered quickly. "Merely an hysterical reaction to-" he looked around wildly as the room grew silent, again dizzying himself as his head whipped around. "The child! What- Mrs. Ellison-" it was all coming back to him as he fought to clear his mind.

"She's fine, Bob- they're both doing fine," Lisa reassured him. She pointed to the corner of the room. Laura was reclining on a few desks that had been pushed together against the wall, the foam padding from the chair supporting her as she breastfed her newborn. Her expression was so motherly, so familiar, that he had to look away- it was too painful to behold, with the memory of the dream still lingering. "See? No complications whatsoever." Convinced that Bob would survive, Robert Sr. rose to his feet, crossing the room to check on the pair. "What about you, Bob?" She asked gently. "Are you alright?" He scowled.

"I said I was fine; syncope is not unheard of when faced with the prospect of blood, due to the-"

"Vasovagal response, I know," Lisa interrupted him before he could launch into a lengthy explanation. "That's not what I mean…" He glared at her, but softened at her kind expression. He knew shouldn't be angry with her- she was merely concerned about him- but he was mortified that she'd witnessed his emotional display.

"I'm fine," he insisted again, and she sighed.

"Alright. It's okay if you're not, though. I'm always willing to listen, if you need to talk." He opened his mouth to argue, his agitation returning. "I'm not going to push it; I just want you to remember that." She looked over to where Robert Sr. was inspecting the baby, and Bob seized the opportunity to scrub the evidence of his weakness from his cheeks. He took a few breaths to steady himself, leaning heavily on a chair as he rose from his location on the floor. "Here, let me help you-" Lisa attempted to assist him to his feet, but he glared at her.

"I can do it myself! But thanks," he added, as he realized just how ungrateful he sounded. She was only trying to help, and it wasn't her fault he was so embarrassed. He knew he'd probably have a few bruises in the morning- from the feel of his body, no one had bothered to break his fall, but to be fair, they'd been a bit preoccupied at the time.

"The ambulance is almost here," Lisa told him as she watched him struggle. "Your dad says everything looks good and they're both doing well, but they'll be taken to the hospital just to be sure. Her husband is with them." She smiled. "He's pretty upset that he missed his child's birth, and he was talking about suing Springfield for poor bridge maintenance." Bob couldn't resist a chuckle.

"I can't fault him, I suppose." He collapsed into a chair, resting his elbows on the desk in front of him. Bob's father motioned for Lisa to join him as the paramedics rushed into the room with a stretcher, followed by a frantic-looking man who must have been Mr. Ellison.

"I'll be back," she promised as she joined the crowd forming around mother and child. Bob watched as the new father held his baby, staring at the tiny human while the paramedics helped his wife onto the stretcher. She held her arms out expectantly, and when he hesitated, she cleared her throat. Her expression told everyone present that she wasn't to be argued with, and he reluctantly passed the child back to her. She held the baby close as they wheeled her out of the room, Dr. Terwilliger and Lisa accompanying them, leaving Bob alone in the vast room. He was still a bit light-headed, and closed his eyes, feeling a headache creeping in behind his eyes. Soon, his sinuses were pounding, and he massaged his forehead to try and relieve some of the building pressure.

"Hey, you doing okay? You look even paler than usual." He opened his eyes as Lisa pulled up a chair beside him. "Here, this should help boost your blood sugar and pressure." She set a bottle of apple juice and a pack of trail mix from the vending machine on the table before him. "Your dad went with them, so he could fill the doctors in on everything about the birth. He said to tell you not to expect him back any time soon, but that he'd call you later tonight."

"Thanks," He managed, his hands shaking slightly as he set upon the snacks. He could feel her eyes upon him, but was grateful that she said nothing about what she'd witnessed. He hoped he'd not been talking in his sleep, but the look on their faces when he'd regained consciousness made him think he may have been… He dreaded to think what he might have revealed.

"Feeling a little better?" He nodded as he sipped the juice. "Well. Who would have thought that the infamous Sideshow Bob would pass out at the thought of a little blood?" She snickered as he glared at her. "Some murderer you would have made… looks like Bart had nothing to worry about, after all, huh?"

"I'm fairly certain my response was the result of a combination of contributing factors, including- but not limited to- the overall stress of the situation, lack of a sufficient breakfast, as well as-"

"Hey, relax," she interrupted with a smirk. "I'm just kidding, you know. Like you said, it's not that uncommon for men especially to react that way to childbirth. I have to say, I'm a little shaken up myself." Bob scoffed.

"Yet you remained upright, and here you sit, the very image of tranquility, despite having literally just brought forth a new life into the world."

"Well, I helped a little- Mrs. Ellison did _most_ of the hard work. And I don't think I'd have been able to do it without your father. He was amazing, even though it's not his area of expertise." Bob shook his head at her limitless humility.

"Spoken like a true doctor." She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh really? Because a lot of the doctors I've met just love taking all the credit, even when they didn't really do anything." Bob shook his head.

"Ah, there is the fine line that distinguishes the good from the great: good doctors know that their skills are necessary, and so feel that the world is blessed by their presence in it, while truly _great_ doctors recognize the privilege of helping others, and are thankful to be able to make a difference. I do believe that you, my dear, fall into the latter category."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves; I'm still a long way from being a fully-fledged doctor," she reminded him.

"Maybe not as far away as you think, Simpson." Bob and Lisa jumped at the authoritative voice. Neither had noticed Dean Chalmers enter the room, much less appear behind them. "The way you handled yourself just now? Most impressive. I'd be willing to sign off on a request for early graduation, if you want." Lisa blinked, looking entirely dumbfounded.

"Um, well- thank you, sir, it's an honor, but I'm afraid I have to decline- that would be dangerous. Just because I'm able to handle the stress of an emergency situation doesn't mean that I'm ready to be a doctor- I still have a lot to learn, and if I skip any of the training, it could cost lives."

"Well, suit yourself," Chalmers shrugged. "Just remember, you don't get ahead in life by following the rules." He winked at Bob. "Which brings me to my next proposal- what do you think about filling in as a substitute teacher? The sub I had lined up for Mrs. Ellison's class flaked out on me, and I thought I'd have a little more time to get this handled. You've got a couple of degrees, don't you?" Bob was shocked.

"Well, I do appreciate the offer- you are, however, aware of my rather… felonious past?" Chalmers nodded.

"Oh yes, very, but you've worked for me in the past with no real complications, and if I'm being completely honest here, we get a sizable tax cut for employing former inmates. It's a win-win situation."

"Well, I don't-" the refusal was on the tip of his tongue, when he remembered the vaguely familiar faces in the group that had gathered to watch Laura's labor. At least a couple of the students had been classmates of Bart, and while it may be unlikely, if he played his cards right, he might be able to glean some insight as to Bart's whereabouts. Someone had to know _something,_ right? "Very well, I suppose it couldn't hurt to try my hand at education."

"Excellent! That's what I was hoping to hear. Here you are," he withdrew a packet of papers from his briefcase, handing them to Bob. "This is all the paperwork you'll need; just bring it by my office when you start. It's a Tuesday/Thursday class, so if you're available Tuesday, you can start immediately." Bob nodded.

"Yes, that should be acceptable. I've no prior commitments at this time. Might I ask what course I'll be instructing?"

"Oh, right- it's an introduction to Literature. Hope that's not an issue?"

"On the contrary, the art of written language is my forte."

"Well, it doesn't have anything to do with music," Chalmers pondered. Bob's forehead wrinkled in confusion.

"I'm sorry? Oh, no, the term 'forte' can also be used to describe one's area of expertise, a topic in which an individual is particularly skilled," he explained, wondering how one in charge of higher education could himself be so woefully ignorant.

"Looks like I chose the right man for the job; you're already teaching! See you on Tuesday, Terwilliger!" He left the two of them staring after him in amazement.

"Wow…" Lisa seemed at a loss for a second. "What a complete and utter…"

" _Imbecile,"_ Bob finished for her. They exchanged a look and burst into laughter.

"Well, congratulations, Professor. Although… Are you sure this is a good idea? You know, 99% of Springfield doesn't care about literature. No offense, but… are you going to be able to keep your cool?" He splayed a hand on his chest, gasping.

"Me? Why, Lisa. I'm offended by the implication that I would _ever_ be less than 'cool,' as you young people say." She giggled.

"Seriously, what's going to happen when the first person complains about Shakespeare being pointless? I don't want to see you in handcuffs on the morning news."

"While it pains me to accept this, I've learned that for the most part, the common rabble will never appreciate the true majesty of fine writing… I can only do my best to show them how very wrong they are, and not take it too personally when they fail to understand."

"Well, good luck with that… and good for you; it sounds like you're making progress," she told him playfully. "It can be tiresome, being right _all_ the time."

"You would know," he shot back. "But you are correct, in this case. Some battles are just not winnable, and it's pointless to expend all of one's time and energy striving toward an unfeasible goal." After a moment of consideration, he added, "I have your brother to thank for that realization, actually. Never in my life had I faced such a challenge as letting go of my hatred, and it's rather humbling- and liberating, in a way. Hatred is… exhausting." Her smile gained the wistful quality it always held whenever Bart was mentioned.

"He never knew it, but I think Bart taught a lot of people a lot of things. I feel so bad…" she sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I haven't done a thing to help him since the last time we talked. I keep telling myself that as soon as finals are done, I'll have more time to focus on him, but what kind of sister puts her schooling before her brother?"

"Your situation is difficult, and I think you're handling it as well as can be expected. Bart wouldn't want you to compromise your education on his behalf, and you've already done more than many in your situation would. You saved his life, don't forget."

"Temporarily," She sighed, staring down at the desk. "You and I both know that something like that _will_ happen again, and what if I'm not there to help him?"

"The fact that he called you- no one else, but you- shows that he trusts you. It may seem like an insignificant detail, but it's instrumental in helping him. So many victims of abuse feel that they have no one to turn to. He reached out to you, so on some level, he knows that he can trust you, and the fact that you dropped everything and rushed to his aid proves that his belief in you is well founded. It showed him that you care enough about him that he can rely on you, and it makes it that much more likely that he'll reach out to you in the future."

"What else would I do?" She snapped. "Of course I'd help my brother!"

"It seems obvious to us, but to someone who's been told by a dominant personality for who knows how long that literally nobody else cares, it's not quite so simple. With that kind of brainwashing, it's easy to believe their words. While it might seem to you like your efforts amounted to nothing, I firmly believe that your unwavering support will ultimately make all the difference. It's undoubtedly already helped him, just knowing that you're there when he needs you."

"I hope so… I texted him the other day, but of course he didn't respond."

"You do realize that his electronic communication is most likely being monitored?" She nodded.

"Of course I do. I made sure not to say anything about seeing him recently, just said that I wondered how he was doing and that he could give me a call sometime if he wasn't too busy. And I made sure to sign my name, just so the guy wouldn't think there was anything going on between Bart and someone else. I don't want to make things worse for him; I just wanted him to know I was still thinking of him." Bob shook his head.

"Of course, you've thought of everything. Actually, my decision to accept the position was influenced by Bart- It's possible that some of his former classmates might have useful information. Maybe by surrounding myself with them, I'll be able to learn something of import."

"Thank you, Bob, it means a lot to me that you want to help, but you don't have to do this if you don't want to- I wouldn't want you to do something you hate just to help us. I'm sure you probably want to move on with your life." He stopped, considering her words.

"Honestly… I'm not sure if I can. It's probably not healthy, from a psychological standpoint, but you and Bart have been a part of my life for so long, I'm not sure that I could just walk away from this, even if I wanted to."

"Yeah, that's probably not healthy," she conceded, smiling. "But I'll take all the help I can get, and I am glad I'm not alone in this. Although," she added sadly, "I wouldn't get your hopes up about finding anything out from the students. All of his friends I've talked to say they haven't heard from him in quite a while."

"Well, I guess we'll see," he pondered, flipping through the packet Chalmers had given him. It was surprisingly brief. If this was all that was required to become a teacher in this town, everything about Springfield suddenly made a _lot_ more sense. "Ugh," he groaned. "I suppose if I'm to be gainfully employed, I should make myself a bit more accessible. I'll need to procure some sort of cellular phone, and ideally an automobile."

"Do you even still have a driver's license?" Lisa asked, her brow furrowed. "No offense, I just mean since you've been in prison for so long, it seems like it would expire." Bob shook his head.

"Fortunately, this state is one of the few that allows one to renew it by mail, in certain extenuating circumstances- including incarceration." She nodded, smiling.

"Well, I guess we're progressive in _some_ areas. In that case, do you need me to give you a ride somewhere?" She asked without hesitation.

"If you'd be so kind as to leave me at the bank so that I might retrieve my funds from one of my safe-deposit boxes, I'll be able to take the bus to the car dealership."

"Oh, no. If you're going to be buying a car, I want to be there for it!" She exclaimed in excitement. "I wouldn't miss you fighting with car salesmen for anything." She sounded entirely too gleeful at the prospect for Bob's liking. "And after that, I can help you pick out a phone. They've changed _just_ a bit in ten years; it might be good to have someone along who knows what they're looking at." She did have a point: the last cell phone he'd owned had been roughly the size and weight of a brick.

"Very well, if you insist. Any support in this trying venture would be helpful." He'd never actually bought a car from a dealership (all of his past transportation had been given to him by his parents- or stolen), but he'd heard numerous stories describing the unctuous nature of car dealers, and he wasn't eager to face them alone.

* * *

A/N: Hey, everyone! As promised, here's another chapter to make up for my unplanned hiatus. It's pretty long; there just wasn't really a good place for a chapter break in there.

I did a bit of research, and from what I could tell, some places will let you renew your driver's license through the mail with the proper forms and whatnot (even if not, we're just going with that).

I hope the flashback at the beginning wasn't too confusing.

So as much as Gino and Francesca always complicate things, I just can't pretend like they don't exist. I feel like they've had too much impact on Bob's development as a character, and that episode shows a lot about his softer side- both when he's dealing with Gino, and when he's playing with the village children. Also, because having children usually makes people a little more empathetic and understanding, I felt like I needed to have that side of Bob present in order for this story to work, with him actually caring about Bart's well being and all. Don't worry, I haven't killed them off or anything like that, but you'll have to wait to find out exactly what happened with them. ;)

Let me know what you think! I'll have another chapter up Sunday for sure- I'm going to go get it all set to post, so I have no excuse. Thanks for reading!

~A


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

* * *

When they entered the bank, Bob gave the number of his deposit box to the teller, and she led them down a long hallway.

"Here it is," she told him, unlocking the box for them. "I'll just leave you with it; let me know when you're finished, Mr. Rackstraw." Lisa's eyebrows shot up.

"Rackstraw?" She asked in amusement. "As in Ralph?"

"Who else?"

"I shouldn't be surprised." She shook her head as he transferred a large stack of bills to his pockets.

"No, you shouldn't," he told her haughtily. She punched his arm lightly, and as the two of them chuckled, Bob was struck by the lighthearted nature of the exchange. Was this what it was like to have actual friends, rather than acquaintances? If so, he found it surprisingly refreshing.

Once they'd left the bank, Lisa turned to him.

"Okay, so what are you looking for?"

"I hadn't given it much thought, really: a used car, so that I may purchase it outright in cash; something that runs, obviously, and doesn't require an exorbitant amount of maintenance. And nothing too showy- I'd rather not attract unnecessary attention, if possible. Any suggestions?" She smiled widely.

"This is going to be even more fun than I thought!" He wondered just what he'd gotten himself into, allowing Lisa to assist him. They soon found themselves in the lot of a Subaru dealership.

"Really?" He asked scornfully. "Subarus are… well… _hippie_ cars." He shuddered as the words left his mouth.

"Watch it- you're in a Subie right now," she warned him.

"Yes, I had noticed- Case and point."

"Hey, you said you wanted something reliable and unassuming. They get great gas mileage, and I've never had a problem with mine. If you have a better idea, I'm all ears." He couldn't really come up with a legitimate objection.

"Fine, I shall humor you and at least have a look at what's available. Let's just get this done with."

"That's the spirit- maybe try to tone down your excitement a bit, though. We wouldn't want them thinking you're _too_ eager about this." He rolled his eyes at her sarcasm, responding in like.

"You are a true comedian, Lisa- of the _highest_ caliber."

"So I've been told." Without another word, she parked her car, walking briskly toward the building while Bob trailed behind her, decidedly less enthusiastic than she. The inside was everything he'd feared: loud music, fluorescent lights, and a passel of employees milling about in wait of their next victim. A man broke away from the group and hurried over to them, an unsettlingly white smile plastered on his face. Bob already didn't like him, and he'd not uttered a single word.

"Welcome to Springfield Subaru! What can I help you two find today?"

"Hello, we're just looking for a simple, one-person car to get him to work and back, preferably pre-owned," Lisa started, but before she could continue, Dave (according to his name tag) was off and running.

"Well, we've got everything you're looking for, and more! Now, I know right now, you're thinking that you'd just need a car for yourself, but life has a funny way of creeping up on you, when you least expect it! I can't tell you how often I have people back in here a few months later, needing something a little bigger, when their families suddenly get-" He nudged Bob's arm. "-a little bigger!" Lisa groaned, knowing what was coming as Bob's lip curled in disdain.

"Listen, you scheming amphibian. I'm truly not in any mood for your bombast- I assure you, I've participated in and witnessed enough performances to know an actor when I lay eyes upon one- especially a low-talent charlatan such as yourself. Your chicanery may persuade lesser minds, but I'll not be wooed by your fourberie. So please, let us drop this tiresome afectation, and cut to the chase. Do you have a suitable car to show us, or should we take our business elsewhere?" He was aware of Lisa behind him, making strange sounds that he assumed were poorly-contained giggles, but he ignored her, fixing the crestfallen man before him with the most severe look he could muster.

"I- let me show you what we've got." With no further ado, Dave showed them to the used cars that fit their stipulations. Despite his initial hesitance, a few hours later found Bob with his pockets considerably lighter and the keys to a Legacy station wagon in his hand.

"See? We'll make a liberal of you yet," Lisa joked as they left the building.

"I'll not even dignify that with a response," Bob muttered, shaking his head. "How did it come to this?" He lamented, surveying his car. He didn't want to admit it to Lisa, but it _was_ a nice car, and the ample storage space was an added bonus he hadn't anticipated. "Well, at least that's out of the way. If I regret this, I'm holding you entirely responsible."

"That's fine- I'm pretty sure you won't. Now, let's get you a phone!" He groaned, hanging his head. How could she retain such a level of energy? She'd helped deliver a baby, navigated the intricacies of the automobile trade, attended at least two rigorous college classes, and was _still_ going strong. Well, if she could do it, who was he to wimp out now?

"Fine. Where would you recommend?" He asked shortly.

"Well, I can meet you at the electronics store. How much do you want to spend?" He threw his hands up in frustration.

"I don't care! Just tell me what to buy. I'll buy it. I'm done." She took a step back.

"Okay, settle down. If you _really_ don't care, you can just give me the money, and I'll get you what I think you need. I can bring it by your place when it's all set up, and show you how to use it."

"Yes," he answered quickly, shoving a wad of bills into her hands. "That. I'll see you when the deed is done." He didn't bother counting it, knowing Lisa wouldn't cheat him. Even if she did, he didn't care- he considered it compensation for all of her assistance.

"You know, it sounds like you're paying me to murder someone," she pointed out, and he managed a small smile.

"I feel ready to murder someone myself," he told her, only half-joking.

"Well, I guess you'd better get going- in your new car!" He rolled his eyes at her enthusiasm, and shut the door as she laughed good-naturedly. "See you in a little bit!" Despite his complaints, he felt a new sense of freedom as he steered the car toward his home- now, he wouldn't have to rely on Lisa or the stinking behemoth of a city bus for transportation. That knowledge raised his spirits slightly, and he felt quite a bit better as he parked outside his building. He knew he shouldn't have gotten so snippy with Lisa, but felt certain that she hadn't taken offense- he'd grown unaccustomed to dealing with so many people while in prison, and the day had taken a toll on him emotionally. He was mentally exhausted, and the relief he felt as he closed the apartment door was overwhelming. He reclined on the sofa and kicked his massive shoes to the floor. A quick nap couldn't hurt…

He was plucked from sleep by a knock on his door.

"Bob? I see your car outside, are you awake?" Lisa called. He opened his eyes, sitting up groggily.

"Yes- I am," he asserted, trying to convince himself. "Hang on." He stumbled to the door, squinting as the sunlight assaulted his eyes.

"Woah. Sorry to wake you up." Her eyes were on his hair, and he knew it must have been quite a sight- it tended to get a bit out of control when he slept.

"I was beginning to stir," he lied, yawning as she walked past him, dumping the contents of her shopping bag onto the kitchen table.

"Okay," she started excitedly. "I got you the newest Samsung Galaxy. I was thinking about going with the iPhone, but the battery life on that isn't exactly up to par, and I thought you'd be more concerned with efficiency than-"

"You realize that the technical jargon is, more or less, lost on me?" Bob interrupted.

"Right, sorry. Here, let me show you how to use it." She walked him through the basic functions of the device: powering on and off, charging, phone calls, texting, and internet access. "That about covers everything you'll need to use it for. I already programmed my number and the school's in there for you, so if you have any questions, give me a call."

"What is this symbol?" He tapped the small yellow box bearing the semblance of a ghost. His face appeared on the screen, looking very confused. What an unflattering angle… Lisa giggled, and he gave her a reproachful look.

"That's Snapchat! You can send me pictures."

"Why would I want to do that?" She laughed even harder as he tried to get back to the home screen, and only succeeded in capturing his frustrated expression with a loud, artificial shutter sound. "What is the point of such foolishness?"

"It's just for fun, Bob. Fun? Have you heard of it? It's this thing most people do."

"I am well aware of the concept; however, I fail to see the correlation between entertainment and such narcissistic activities as photographing and electronically distributing my own face."

"That's what I thought at first, too, but it's kind of amusing. You'll see." He snorted in disgust.

"I _highly_ doubt that."

"Hey, I got your phone all set up, so I think I'm entitled to install a few frivolous apps on it."

"Very well, I'll allow you to have your 'fun,' even if it is at my expense."

"Oh, that reminds me-" She pulled her wallet out of her purse, setting the remainder of his money on the table. "Really? $3,000? How much did you think it was going to cost?"

"As you so cheerfully pointed out, I'm a bit behind on current technology trends. I've no idea what one of these contraptions costs."

"Well, not that much. But look-" She took the phone back, tapping the screen quickly. "This is your regular camera app. I know you like taking pictures, 'Slideshow Bob,' and this way you don't have to spend money or wait to get the film developed." Well, that was something... he'd spent more than he liked to admit on his photos from his trip to London, and the majority of them had been unusable.

"Fine, I'll concede to its usefulness in that regard. But don't expect me to send every one to you like some kind of tech-addicted teenager."

"We'll see. It will grow on you." Although he doubted this, he didn't have the fortitude to argue with her- and he didn't want to give her any more opportunities to rub it in his face, should he waver on his initial standpoint. She already had far too much material to hold above him as it was. "I should be heading out; I'm pretty confident in classes for tomorrow, but it couldn't hurt to brush up on my notes for the exams."

"Oh!" In all the excitement, he'd completely forgotten that it was the most important week of the semester for her. "Lisa, my sincerest apologies! You should have reminded me."

"Really, don't worry about it. Like I said, I'm pretty sure the exams aren't going to be a problem. I've already got over one hundred percent in all of my classes." He smiled, shaking his head.

"A surprise to no one. Well, thank you for your assistance; it takes quite a load off my mind. Good luck on your exams."

"Thanks, same to you on your first day teaching!" As she left him to himself, he felt the faintest twinge of anxiety beginning to stir in his stomach. Although he was confident in his abilities to teach the students more than they'd probably learned in their entire first semester, there was something daunting about the prospect of dozens of faces staring at him expectantly. He began running through possible scenarios, planning out everything he might have to deal with. Although he wasn't often struck with nerves, when he did find himself preoccupied, he did his best to imagine each outcome and plan accordingly. It helped to distract him from whatever he was dreading, and made him feel a little better, knowing that he was at least a little more prepared for whatever the day might bring his way.

Somehow, though, he never seemed to account for everything- his life had a funny way of throwing at him exactly the opposite of what he expected. After too long running through outlandish possibilities, he shook his head in frustration. He couldn't control everything (unfortunately), he'd come to realize. Sometimes, it was better just to improvise, and face the events as they occurred. He forced all thoughts of the coming day from his mind, and retired to his bed for the night.

* * *

A/N: Hey! Thanks for reading! I absolutely _love_ this chapter; I had so incredibly much fun writing Bob's interaction with the car salesman, and also with his new phone. I got an iPhone about a year ago, and I still struggle with it from time to time.

Ralph Rackstraw is the male lead in The HMS Pinafore, if anyone was wondering.

I used to have a Subaru station wagon, until someone ran a red light and destroyed it- RIP. I loved that car with all of my being, so I'm living vicariously through Bob in that respect.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. Let me know what you think!

~A


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

* * *

He rose earlier than was necessary, and spent far too much time fussing with his hair- he didn't know why he bothered; it just did whatever it wanted anyway. When he was satisfied with his appearance, he took his stack of completed paperwork in to the Dean's office. Chalmers was on the phone, but gave him a thumbs-up as he handed it to him. He tossed the packet onto a tall stack of papers without a second glance, making Bob wonder if he would even bother to read through it- for all that Chalmers seemed to care, Bob probably could have put that he was a serial murderer of college students, and it wouldn't have affected his position.

The lecture hall where his class was to be taught was able to hold upwards of a hundred students, with a desk and small office at the front. He flipped through the notes on the desk, tossing them down in disgust. They were still reviewing material that should have been covered freshman year of high school, and not very successfully, from the look of things. He was, however, pleased to see that there was a laptop there, with a label reading "Prof. Terwilliger." At least this job had _some_ perks… He tapped his fingers impatiently as the students filed in one by one, most of them at least ten minutes tardy- just one more issue that they would soon learn to remedy. Once it appeared that there would be no more stragglers, he cleared his throat.

"Welcome to Understanding Literature 101. I am Professor Terwilliger, and I shall be your instructor for the remainder of your professor's maternity leave."

"Can we call you Mr. T?" A voice called out. Ah, the joys of community college... Bob glared at the speaker, a rather athletic-looking boy with a backwards baseball cap.

"You most certainly may _not._ Now unless there are any other idiotic questions, I'd like to inform you of a few revisions to the syllabus. There shall be no 'participation points-' simply showing up is not enough to pass this course." A chorus of groans filled the room. "And my grading scale will be _much_ less forgiving than that to which you've grown accustomed. Grammar and spelling _do_ count, and errors will result in deductions from your grade." He was aware of the less-than-friendly looks he was receiving as he surveyed the sea of bored (and now irritated) youths staring back at him from the seats of the large lecture hall. Although he recognized a couple of faces (there was a ghostly pale young man, clutching a bottle of ginger ale, as well as a set of creepily identical twins), none of them stood out as any of Bart's cohorts. Wait… the only student in the back row seemed to be sitting… backwards in his chair?

"Excuse me? Young man in the outfield?" Bob attempted to attract his attention, but the boy merely began humming to himself, nodding his head with the rhythm. "Excuse me…" A couple of students laughed.

"Don't bother; he's only in this class to keep him out of his dad's way," chimed in the jock who'd commented earlier. "Oy! Numbskull!" He shouted at the humming student, chucking a wadded up piece of paper in a perfect arc. It bounced off the other boy's head, causing him to jump in alarm and fall out of his seat. The room broke into laughter- which was quickly silenced by a scathing look from Bob.

"That's enough," he hissed, and the room was quiet, save for the soft sobbing of the boy in the back row- Bob could now see that it was none other than Ralph Wiggum, clutching a bump on his forehead. "I expect by next class period, three pages: twelve-point font, single-spaced, interpreting the theme of the last book you read," Bob instructed curtly. "And believe me: I will _know_ if you resort to _Spark Notes._ " The words left a bitter taste in his mouth. "If you've not read a book- as I suspect is the case for many of you- then for God's sake, go to the damn library. Dismissed."

"But what about our exam?" Whined a nasally-voiced girl.

"You should have thought about that before causing a ruckus. If you've the dedication required to pass my class, you may take the exam in the testing center on the morrow. Anyone not willing to take that extra step may as well quit now- you won't stand a chance in the coming semester. It will be the same exam your teacher prepared, but after that, this course will undergo some rather dramatic changes."

The students filed out of the room, muttering quietly amongst themselves and shooting Bob wary looks. He hoped he had adequately demonstrated how serious he was. He had little doubt that the enrollment in his class would plummet in the next few weeks, and frankly, he couldn't be bothered to care. It was high time that _someone_ attempted to teach this town's youth _something._ He climbed the stairs to join Ralph, whose crying had quieted to soft sobs. "Hello- Ralph, is it? I'm Professor Terwilliger…" He frowned. It was admittedly a mouthful, even for him. "I suppose it wouldn't do any harm for you to address me as Bob. Is that easier for you?" Ralph didn't answer, just pointed to his bruised cranium.

"I falled down, Bob," He whimpered. "Owie."

"I know you did. I witnessed the entire occurrence. If you'll accompany me, I can attempt to alleviate some of your pain." Ralph just looked at him.

"But… it hurts," he whined, clearly not understanding Bob's instructions. Bob sighed: This was going to be difficult for him.

"Come with me- I'll fix it," he said simply, dumbing down his words as much as he knew how. Ralph smiled at him, then held out his hand. Bob took it and helped him to his feet. To his surprise, Ralph held on tightly as they walked to the front of the room. Bob, although rather irritated at this point (and slightly uncomfortable), didn't yank his hand free from Ralph's grip, and the boy again smiled at him.

"I like holding hands," he told him happily, "It makes me feel little." Bob truly didn't know how to respond. Bob rifled through the first aid kit until he found the cold pack, which he cracked and held to Ralph's forehead.

"Ralph?" The boy continued smiling blankly at him. "Do you remember Bart Simpson?" Ralph's smile widened.

"Bart is my friend!"

"Yes, I'm sure he is… do you know where Bart is?" He knew it was a stretch, but Ralph was the only one he could think to ask who might have even an inkling of Bart's whereabouts- and who he could ask without arousing suspicion. Ralph's smile faded.

"The mean man hurts Bart!" He cried, his tears returning.

"What man?" Bob asked, hoping against all odds that he might be able to tell him anything useful. Through his tears, Ralph pointed to Bob, whose heart sank. "No, Ralph. I used to want to hurt Bart, but now I don't. Who hurts him _now_?" Ralph shook his head, knocking the cold pack aside.

"The mean man hurts Bart!" He repeated insistently, still jabbing his finger toward Bob. Bob sighed again. This was getting him nowhere, and was only upsetting Ralph.

"Never mind, Ralph. How's your head?" Ralph smiled again, Bart's plight apparently forgotten just that quickly.

"My face feels cold!" He exclaimed excitedly.

"Yes, but does it still hurt?" Bob was trying to be nice, but his patience was wearing very thin. Ralph shook his head.

"No- thank you, nice man Bob!" One second he was the mean man, the next he was nice- he couldn't figure out this boy's thought process, and wondered if he even had one. It really had been too much to expect anything from Ralph.

"You're welcome, Ralph. Now, there's homework- What was the last book you read?" Ralph seemed to be thinking very hard, biting his lip in concentration. Finally, he looked at Bob.

"Are You My Mother?" Bob legitimately couldn't tell if he was answering the question, or asking one of his own. Either way, Bob wasn't encouraged. There must have been some mistake- there was no way Ralph should have even been able to graduate high school, let alone enroll in a college course. Even for Springfield, this was simply ridiculous.

"Okay… do you know what a theme is?"

"When you have a birthday party, and all the decorations are the same!" Bob's palm found his face with a loud smack, evoking a giggle from Ralph. Technically, the boy wasn't wrong… Bob didn't have the fortitude to try to explain to him what he meant.

"Very well. Write about your favorite birthday, and bring it to class with you on Thursday. Do you understand?" Ralph giggled again.

"My birthday is in the winter!" This was impossible. "I like the birthday song!"

"Do you even know how to write?" Bob asked sharply.

"With a pencil!" Ralph responded without hesitation.

"Then just write anything! Write whatever nonsense comes into that empty skull of yours! That is, of course, if there _is_ anything going on in there! If by some miracle you manage to string even one sentence together, write it down and bring it to me!" He knew he shouldn't have snapped like that at someone so clearly disadvantaged, but he _did_ feel better once the words were out- that is, until he saw the brief flash of hurt in Ralph's eyes. It was quickly replaced by his trademark vacant stare, but Bob was sure he hadn't imagined it.

"I'll write you a story," Ralph said quietly, and ambled out of the room, leaving Bob to ponder what he'd just witnessed.

He'd felt certain that Ralph hadn't been grasping what he was saying, but now he saw that he'd understood at least a little- he wondered what else the boy picked up on, when people thought he wasn't paying attention. He pored through the teacher's desk, searching desperately for any mention of his unlikely student. Finally, in the bottom drawer, he uncovered a Tupperware container with a few sheets of stickers and some brightly colored candies. A post-it note was affixed to the top. "For Ralphie," was all the information it offered. Bob stared at it blankly, as if searching for more hidden information. Was that it? Ralph showed up to class, and his teacher just kept him happy with the most basic forms of positive reinforcement? There was something fundamentally wrong with the idea that he, an educator, was reduced to no more than a glorified babysitter for an overgrown child… Well, Bob wasn't going to stand for it. Ralph was clearly severely mentally challenged, but that didn't mean that he wasn't just as entitled to a real education as any other student. He was going to make sure that Ralph participated, and was challenged just as much as the others. He rubbed his temples, knowing that he would have to start a lesson plan from scratch. Bob would have to figure out just what Ralph was capable of understanding, in order to tailor his education to his own abilities. Hopefully, Ralph would turn in his "story," so that Bob could better judge his mental capacity. He was going to have his work cut out for him.

* * *

A/N: Hello! Thanks for reading! I love this chapter, too. I've always thought that Bob would be one of those terrifying teachers who are actually very good at what they do, but take it _way_ too seriously.

So let me just say how much I love Ralph. People are so mean to him, and he usually seems like he doesn't pick up on it, but sometimes he just looks so sad, it always makes me wonder.

Anyway, Ralph doesn't have a _ton_ to do with the main plot of the fic, to be honest, but I feel like Bob's response to him and general approach in dealing with him shows how much Bob has grown and changed over the years.

Let me know what you think.

~A


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

* * *

He spent most of Wednesday trying to prepare himself for the following day- he'd known going into this that it would be a challenge, but he'd not imagined anything quite like this- it was like the plot of a bad sitcom episode. He used his school-issued laptop to study common special education techniques, and tried his hardest to diagnose Ralph. Despite his best efforts, none of the disorders he found quite encompassed the boy's enigmatic behavior. While he displayed some symptoms of Asperger syndrome and other forms of autism, some of his behaviors were in direct contradiction of this diagnosis. Perhaps this was why the adults in his life had seemingly grown tired of trying to help him, and instead settled for keeping him out of the way. Well, he would be damned if he joined their ranks- he was going to get through to Ralph, one way or another. He compiled a list of cognitive therapy exercises that might be of use to him, and studied up on a wide range of developmental disorders and how to best deal with them.

When he addressed his class on Thursday, he wasn't surprised to see their numbers significantly diminished: nearly half of his students had apparently decided to forgo his teachings. Well, no bother- it made his job that much easier. Hopefully, the students who remained were a bit more dedicated and studious than he'd at first given them credit for being. Among them was, of course, Ralph, who had exchanged his back-row desk for one in the front. He smiled widely at Bob, who did his best to return the warm expression.

"Hello, and welcome back. I'm pleased to see that at least some of you have returned. Now, I understand that the second semester hasn't officially started; however, I see no point in wasting time. Does anyone know the purpose of the paper I assigned you?" A student in the front row raised his hand tentatively.

"To teach us a lesson?" Bob bit back a snappy response.

"Yes, although I do believe that's the point of attending classes all together." He smiled, and a few students chuckled cautiously. "Partially, I wanted to weed those looking for an easy credit from our midst, but mostly, I'm interested in your ability to comprehend and analyze the nuances of symbolism as it pertains to the overall message of a work. Now, please get out your papers." He was rather proud of himself- he was being downright nice! He'd even said please. There was a flurry of activity as they hurried to produce their assignments from their school bags. Ralph held a single sheet of paper above his head triumphantly.

"I remembereded my story!" He announced, and there were a few scattered snickers. Bob stared at each culprit in turn, until they once again fell silent.

"Well done, Ralph. Now, I wish to make something perfectly clear. I may be filling in for Mrs. Ellison, but while she's in convalescence, this is _my_ classroom- and in it, there is absolutely _no_ room for discrimination of any kind. This is not limited to race- it includes discrimination against anyone for _any_ reason, including disabilities. You may be students, but you're mature enough to treat one another with dignity and respect; you're adults, and I expect you to conduct yourselves as such. Now, do I make myself clear?" Ralph squinted at him, craning his neck to get a better look.

"You're not see through," he pointed out.

"No, I suppose I'm not," Bob conceded, again glancing warningly at the rest of the students: none of them made as much as a peep. "Well, I suppose that's as good a place as any to start: the use of figurative language. Now I was speaking figuratively just now, which means that I didn't really mean that I was literally clear, just that my words were easily understood." He explained the different ways figurative language could be used in literature, providing examples for both Ralph and the rest of the students. Whether Ralph understood what Bob was saying wasn't evident, but he seemed to be intently listening to the lecture, only growing fidgety and picking his nose once throughout the entire two hours. When the class was over, Bob instructed them to leave their assignments on his desk.

"Do you want to read my story?" Ralph asked him, holding it out for him with a proud smile.

"I'd be delighted, Ralph. Thank you, and good job remembering to bring it with you." To be honest, he was surprised that Ralph had written anything. It was on a sheet of wide-ruled notebook paper, and had been scrawled in purple crayon, but it was _something_ , and that alone was a start.

 ** _my birthday_**

 **by ralph wiggm**

 **i had a birth day prty nd my kity cam so i putd a hat on him**

 **he givd me a presnt it wuz a ded mows so i putd a hat on him 2**

 **but he didnt eet ne cak i at all the cak**

 **nd i throwd up**

 **the end**

He stared at the story. Despite the horrific spelling and nonexistent grammar, he'd followed Bob's instructions. It stayed on topic, and told the story of his birthday party.

"This was… your _favorite_ birthday?" He asked, appalled as Ralph nodded. He didn't even want to know what would qualify as a bad birthday in Ralph's opinion.

"Yeah, it was lots of fun. I had a pretty pink cake, and pretty decorations. It was a yummy cake, but it maked me feel funny."

"Yes, I see that. Thank you for writing this and turning it in; I'll give it back to you next time, when I'm finished grading everyone's papers." Ralph smiled again, then spun on his heel without a word and wandered out of the room. Bob stared at the paper for a long time. His spelling seemed to be entirely phonetic, so he understood the sounds made by the letters, and he also seemed to grasp the concept of conjunctions to link his ideas. The absence of punctuation was a bit troubling, but it was actually better than he'd anticipated. It was about what he would expect from a kindergartener- which was, most likely, the grade in which the teachers had given up trying to actually teach him. Ralph had mentioned his fondness for the birthday song; perhaps a musical approach to the English language was in order. Of course, that had already been done, with the Schoolhouse Rock series, but Bob was looking for something a bit more personalized. It had been some time since he'd composed anything of his own, but this could actually be fun. He put it at the top of the stack of papers, and tucked them into his briefcase, along with the laptop.

* * *

After class, he stopped by the testing center to collect the completed exams, and then returned to his apartment to work on grading them. It was worse than he could ever have imagined: their entire first semester had apparently consisted of them watching movies, and the exam was just multiple choice questions based on them: not a single short answer or essay question was present on the whole test. He flew through them, finishing the grading in less than an hour. They had all passed, although a few had cut it rather close.

There was only one that caused him to tumble- unsurprisingly, it belonged to one Ralph Wiggum. It was the only one that was something other than multiple choice, but it was no better than the rest. It was simply a blank sheet of paper, with one line of instruction: "Draw your kitty." There was a shockingly accurate depiction of a cat, although Bob found it a little disturbing that it seemed to have a very human face. He wasn't sure if this was merely Ralph's artistic interpretation of the companionship he felt with his cat, or if he truly saw his feline friend with a human countenance. Either way, he was quite impressed with the boy's artistic ability: Ralph had definitely earned his A. Bob wondered if Mrs. Ellison was aware of Ralph's talent, or if she'd simply written the first thing that came into her head. He tried to be understanding of her lax approach to education: she had, after all, been growing another person inside of her for the entirety of the first semester, but somehow he doubted that it would have made much of a difference.

He decided to keep all of Ralph's work together, so that he could better track any progress he might make, and determine what tactics seemed most effective. He copied down Ralph's story onto a separate sheet of paper, word-for-word, and made his corrections on that, using different colored pens for different corrections- spelling corrections were denoted in blue, while grammar was in green, and he avoided red altogether, not wanting to discourage him with the stereotypically negative color.

He spent the next few hours researching special education and elementary school lesson plans, having decided that the best course of action would be to start at the beginning. He devised a tentative schedule for what they should cover over the next month, doing his best to make is as simple as possible. It was almost a puzzle, trying to figure out what would make sense to the boy and applying it to the topic, and he'd lost track of the time when his phone buzzed, signaling an incoming text from Lisa.

"Hey, how's the class going? Has everyone survived Professor Terwilliger?" He smirked as he typed his response.

"So far, there have been no fatalities, though the semester is young. Your exams went well, I assume?" It was really just a formality: of course Lisa had done well on her exams; it was foolish to think otherwise. She texted back a moment later.

"Yes, even better than I expected. Thanks. Just wanted to see how it was going."

"Thanks… I have Ralph in my class." He wondered if she was aware that he was attending classes. "No one has attempted to teach him a thing, but I think he's capable of learning, with the right approach." Her response took longer than the last one.

"Well, if anyone can teach him, I think it's you- just be patient with him; it's not his fault. He's a sweet kid, and I would hate to see him fall victim to 'the wrath of Bob.' I don't know if it's helpful to you, but he was actually amazing in the school play, and remembered all of his lines. He can tap dance like nobody's business, too. Apparently he's got some hidden talents, but everyone forgets about them and writes him off as being too stupid to learn." This _was_ useful information…

"Thank you, that is quite helpful. I'll be sure to let you know what happens with him." With Lisa's confirmation that Ralph wasn't a complete lost cause, he felt confident that he was on the right track, and was feeling downright optimistic that he would be able to get through to the boy. As he prepared for bed, he found himself even looking forward to starting Ralph's customized lesson plan. Who knew? Perhaps, if given the proper attention, Ralph could flourish and surprise everyone.

* * *

A/N: Hello! Thanks for reading! I hope you liked Ralph's story; I had so much fun writing him.

I know it's not Sunday, but I missed the last couple Sundays, so I wanted to at least get something up. I've been busy.

Like I said, I feel like no one ever gives Ralph enough credit. I'm not really trying to diagnose Ralph, and if I've offended anyone, I apologize- I did a bit of research on autism, and I've a few cousins and friends with varying forms of autism and Asperger's. It frustrates me how there sometimes aren't facilities available for people with disabilities or whose learning style differs from the standard, or how even if they're available, their parents don't provide for them sufficiently. I'm not going to go into it right now, but it can make such a huge difference in a person's life if people just try to look at things differently and put forth a little effort into helping them.

While Bob might not normally be the type to bend over backwards to accommodate someone else's needs, in this fic, Lisa has really gone out of her way to help him, so he's feeling generous.

Sorry about the hiatus. I'll try to be better. T_T

~A


End file.
